


burn & break

by kissingiscool



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating, Spies & Secret Agents, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissingiscool/pseuds/kissingiscool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The A/B/O Spy Au in which Louis and Harry aren't anywhere close to being friends, Louis keeps himself hidden in every which way, and Harry likens himself to that of a shadow. A bit of cooperativeness goes a long and far way, and their ghosts come back to haunt them. Louis is lucky he finds comfort in chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. of all ghosts and ghouls, the present seems scariest

**Author's Note:**

> ALL of this is very loosely based off of abigail roux's book series _cut & run_ (more specifically the third book _fish & chips_ and the drama t.v. show criminal minds). u learn a lot about the FBI and other agencies when u watch criminal minds, i'll tell u what.
> 
> i would like to thank the lovely [olivia](dimpledlouis.tumblr.com) last year and the marvelous [crystal](anthemofheartbreak.tumblr.com) because they sat through me rambling about it and helped me articulate my ideas.
> 
> i'm making no promises or marks on my calendar, and i won't always know when i'll be posting the next chapters, but i will attempt to have a chapter for you every saturday - some may come every two weeks, depending on how much time i'll need. i will do my very best.
> 
> please enjoy and share your inquiries or opinions at my [tumblr](kissingscool.tumblr.com) and [twitter](twitter.com/kissingscool)!
> 
> (p.s. my knowledge of any FBI business, going undercover, and spies extend no farther than the knowledge the book series and television show gave me. translation: i don't know a lot about the FBI. please don't hold me accountable for anything i don't know i'll try to do research as i go along.)
> 
> the [playlist](http://8tracks.com/charredstars/burn-break#smart_id=dj:4449375) and the [post](http://kissingscool.tumblr.com/post/122004490040/title-burn-break-playlist-author)
> 
>  _trigger warnings_ : blood, flashbacks of torture, abuse

**BALTIMORE, FEDERAL INVESTIGATION BUREAU BUILDING**  
**10:21 A.M.**

Louis arrives two hours late to work every day.

It's not that Harry is paying him any mind or anything _ridiculous_ like that - it's just a piece of information he's acquired about his partner, only because it's obvious. They're usually called in at eight in the morning, be it for briefings or something else vital, but nothing can ever get started without Louis, as it goes.

Louis stumbles in today, wearing a black blazer over a graphic tee and a pair of dark skinnies with converse to kick it off. He's sipping on his tea in a small china cup from the break room, his tousled fringe shadowing his surely sleepy sea blue eyes. He's a bit scruffy from having not shaved in three days or so, but it makes him look a tad bit manlier and makes up for his small size and omega status (he's the smallest in the team, besides their technical analyst). Louis shakes his fringe out of his flashing, mischievous eyes and meets Harry's emerald green ones, grinning with his eyebrow lifted. "Morning, Curly."

Harry rolls his eyes, heat bursting beneath his collar at the name, and he nods curtly. "Same to you," he mumbles and turns back into his seat, pressing the toes of his shoes into the carpet to push himself under his desk more as if Louis' going to try and come over there and sit in his lap. He'd do that, actually, because he's tried it before.

He doesn't this time and walks past him, ruffling his hair with small hands. "Your cheeks are a bit red; you alright over there?" he comments as he settles in the cubicle beside him, rolling his chair out to get a full look at the taller, young man.

Cursing his paleness, Harry scowls and nods again. "The temperature is higher than normal. My collar is chaffing." He kind of needs this conversation to end now because he doesn't bother speaking to him any longer than he needs to. That's how it is. That's how it's always been.

Louis hums with a tilted head, unconvinced, and drops the issue as he scoots into his desk. "Whatever you say, Styles, but if you get sick on my shoes, you're paying."

Harry releases a long, baited sigh through his nostrils with a slow roll of his eyes. _Let the games begin._ "Don't be a baby, Tomlinson, you won't die. It won't be the end of the world and with those shoes, it certainly wouldn't be worth fussing over."

Louis scoots out of his cubicle entirely, expression affronted and contorted in offense. Harry tiffs, hunching himself over his desk, pen scribbling away madly. "I'm sorry, I don't see what right you think you have talking about _style_ and _fashion sense_ when I'm the only one who doesn't have bland fashion taste around here. Everywhere I look, it's Armani, Armani, Armani and - look! _More_ Armani!"

Harry's brow furrows, and he gives himself a once-over. He's currently sporting a black suit with a white dress shirt and a red tie, so he supposes that he looks fine. It's much the same as what he wore yesterday, and the day before, and for all the years he's worked there. He frowns and tugs at the end of his tie. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that either Armani needs more style variety or you do, not unless you wanna walk around here looking like you've been wearing the same clothes for several months now -"

"Tomlinson -"

"I'm just trying to give you some pointers because for the past week, your attitude has been rotten enough to deserve its own funeral. Maybe it's the suit that's keeping you from being able to pull -"

Harry swallows and pinches the bridge of his nose, voice deepening as he pins Louis with his stare. "I'm not here to talk about the layers of fabric on my fucking back or about getting laid; I'm here to do my job. I suggest you do the same."

Louis flushes and glowers at him. He has an unfair advantage, really; he's an alpha. "Well, you started it, jackass. God, Styles, you're no _fun_ -"

"The _F_ in _FBI_ doesn't stand for 'fun' - it stands for _Federal_. I thought you knew that since you've got big ears and an even bigger mouth."

Louis' skin prickles and he flushes deeper, but he stops himself from saying much else and scoots back into his cubicle before his temper bests him. "I need a new partner."

*

Harry takes his job very, _very_ seriously. The memory of the utter disdain that sat in his stomach after the first few weeks of their partnership still sits with him now. He profiled him quite easily and quickly because really, the man was like something out of a children's movie - animated, loud, and far prettier than the average human. It almost took Harry a full day to realize that Louis was a real person and that what he was experiencing wasn't a dream of some sort.

The problem, Harry soon identified, was that Louis took little next to _nothing_ seriously; he was serious when he got ready. Walked in the office wearing worn out skinny jeans with explicit graphic tees, spent more time talking to his friends than working on files, and slept in the office for half of the work day. He was awfully lazy and unbearably snappy. They haven't even been on an actual case together yet, and Harry was already dreading it.

When Irving pokes his head out of his office and gesticulates for both Louis and Harry to come to his office, Harry feels his heart plummet into his gut and burn up in the very pit of it. He wrings his hands together before sticking them in his pocket and walking forth through his office doorway. Louis purposely brushes his shoulder against Harry's as he walks pasts him, reveling in the sound of static and seating himself in one of the leathery chairs.

"I've got a proposition for you two - of sorts," Irving says, beady eyes darting between the two of them.

Louis stands up, tugging the lapels of his blazer, and extends a hand out to Harry. "Well, Styles, it's been a pleasure and a wild ride -"

"Sit down, Tomlinson, you're not getting a new partner. What you're getting is your first assigned case together," he snaps, tossing down a manila colored file on top of his desk. "The rest of the team isn't getting briefed until later because they're only back-up; you two are the ones I need to speak to first -"

"Back-up? Why aren't we all on the case then, if we'll need back-up?" Louis mutters, in the process of snatching the file up as Harry goes in to reach for it. Harry glowers at him, and Louis twitches his nose at his little victory.

"You two are going undercover - as a couple. In an assassination company. The company's name is Wisp Inc., a small little place where you can come in and ask for a specific assailant to kill someone for pay. As if the business itself isn't already awful, someone is trying to take the rest of them out and take the money with them. They shoot them in the head and leave quarters over their bullet holes, putting numbers on it with a Sharpie. Your job is to go undercover, infiltrate them, and find the mole. You won't need to make any changes to your appearance, though -"

"Because these are our pictures," Louis mutters, looking over the profile of them before his mind reels back and echoes the small man's first few words.

_As a couple._

He snaps his head back up, eyes moving wildly across Irving's face as he shakes his head. "I think I heard you wrong because I could've _sworn_ you said 'couple' -?"

"I did. You," Irving interrupts, pointing at Harry, "are going as Edward Styles. And you, Louis, are going as William Tomlinson. Your original identities will be covered and hidden very deep into the system, so it'll be far too difficult for anyone else to access your background information -"

"Why do we have to go under as a couple? Can't we just go in as partners or something more - I don't know, _logical?_ This is absurd," Harry breathes out on a humorless laugh because this is a dream - or a nightmare - and he'll wake up any moment now, surely. "Absolutely absurd -"

Louis sits the file back on the man's desk with another shake of his head, skin prickling with unease and stomach churning at the thought of all the things that could go wrong. "I'm not doing this, not with him."

Irving huffs and leans forward, linking his fingers together over the desktop. "Well, boys, the point of you being a couple is that you'll be a target. It's not in the means that you're two men together, but more of a matter that they know you're stronger together, harder to isolate. Somebody's gonna try to take one of you out to weaken the other."

Harry swallows heavily, palms sweating as he rubs them on his thighs. "And if they do? Take one of us out, I mean?"

Irving presses his lips together tightly and leans back, placing his hands in his lap. "This team will do everything in their power to ensure that doesn't happen. You two are strong boys, you know what you're doing - that's why you're here. But...if something does go wrong...well, we'll know who the culprit is by then."

*

"A couple? You and Harry? _A couple?_ " Eleanor exclaims, leaning over the edge of Louis' cubicle with her brightened hair and her eyes bedazzled with the promise of gossip. "This is a joke, isn't it?"

Louis glances over at the break room, fingers pressed to his forehead as he watches Harry make his fourth cup of coffee that morning. The man drinks _coffee_ \- how is he supposed to get along with someone like that? "I'm still waiting for someone to come out and tell me I've been pranked, honestly. Listen, you gotta keep quiet, you weren't even supposed to know about this yet," he says, taking his original file in his hands and flipping it open.

His gaze carries back over and pins Harry, and he sighs heavily, waving Eleanor away, a gesture - _leave me alone._ She leaves accordingly, heels denting the carpet in.

His eyes trace the sharp lines of his broad back, the fabric of his light blue dress shirt stretching over it tightly. His eyes trail down his back to his slim hips and where the belt buckle stops above his _adorable_ ass, crawling up to where his wild curls fan around his head like a storm cloud, unruly and unkempt. The ache of want he feels in his chest is unwarranted. _Who am I trying to kid? I'd make him that ugly coffee every morning before he got here if I was given the option._

See, Louis' been in love with Harry since before their first week of partnership. A blushing, fumbling rookie, satchel heavy with notes and books on criminal law and agencies, spouting off Miranda Rights under his breath when his eyes first landed on the larger man; Louis couldn't seem to get him off his mind. Harry hadn't even been in the same division, but it didn't seem to matter then because Louis was infatuated beyond belief with him, this brooding man with shining eyes and a deep dimple.

He'd been absolutely enthralled deep inside when he was first told that Harry would be his new partner, and he was positive that they could see his heart through the layers of fabric he'd been wearing because of how hard it was pounding.

But then he met Harry. And then he hated him with his whole heart; the ache was still there, though, persistent and throbbing.

He turns back to the file with a heavy sigh, eyes skimming over it as he searches for the important details (again and again and again until his eyes burn and lose focus), but he can't concentrate, not with his mind circling around the endless possibilities of what could happen for them with this case. He rolls his eyes at himself and slaps the file down, standing and pulling on the blazer he had slung over the back of his chair as Harry approaches him with a raised eyebrow. "Where do you think you're going? We still have to go over some things -"

"You know where I'm going? To get some air. I need air," Louis repeats, brushing his shoulder against the taller man's as he passes by him, shivers running through him as he breathes in the scent of his cologne.

"Me and you both, pal," Harry mutters.

The words don't go unnoticed by Louis and his blood boils and he wants to yell at him and tell him to blow it out of his ass, to tell him that he doesn't know the half of anything yet. He grumbles instead, tightening his jaw and walking to the elevators, chest seizing up and cheeks reddening.

He huffs in ease when the elevator comes up empty, hoping he can use the ride down to the main floor to think until Niall runs up behind him, slapping a hand between the closing elevator doors and greeting him with a dimpling smile and a soft, "Hey, mate."

Louis masks his slight irritation with a polite smile; it doesn't stay on his face for much longer than two seconds, but it's all he has to offer. He bounces his eyebrows and lifts his eyes to the silver ceiling, partly because he's fighting to find his voice, mainly because he's hoping that Niall will take it as a sign that he's in no mood to have a talk.

"Heard you and Harry are finally on a case together, yeah?" Niall mumbles, making for casual conversation as he surveys Louis' crumbled expression. "How bad is it, exactly?"

"We're supposed to be a couple."

Niall hisses and clasps a hand on Louis' shoulder in a gesture of sympathy because, like everybody else in the office, he knows their struggle to even be _friends_. "You're not holding up well, huh?"

Louis shakes his head and grits his teeth and _when will he leave?_ He loves Niall with his whole heart and more, really, he does, but the boy is a profiler and he can't take the hint -

"You want some peace and quiet and I just keep talking, huh? Sorry 'bout that," he murmurs and removes his hand, respectively moving to his own corner of the elevator.

Louis sighs and closes his eyes, leaning his head against the cool mirrored wall. "I'm sorry, Ni; it's just - it's hard for me right now. To register, I mean. I can't pretend to be in love with someone when -" He cuts himself off because it hits him like a slap to the face. He's right, though, isn't he? He can't pretend he's in love with Harry when he already is. There's no faking a love that sticks to you like a strong adhesive. He folds his lips inward and silences himself.

"Understandable," Niall says before he can reword himself as the elevator doors open, and they step out together.

Louis can't seem to get his legs to move fast enough and curtly waves the blonde goodbye before stepping out on the building steps and bending over, resting his hands on his knees and breathing in heavily, the warmth the spring air settling in his pores and curling in his lungs. Thick tension lingers around him like a cold spot, and it's like an itch that he can't scratch with how much he wants be ridden of the feeling.

He straightens himself out and breathes in deeply and slowly, looking up at the sky. He blinks owlishly. _Okay. Okay._

*

As the day wanes and surrenders to the night, Harry releases a hearty yawn and massages the kink that's been pressing against his shoulder blade since this morning. His eyelids are heavy and aching and his muscles twinge from having been sat in a chair for hours when he stands.

He looks to the side of him and finds Louis with his head hidden between his arms and his shoulders steadily falling and rising, and he peers closer, sees the shadows of his eyelashes against his high, flushed cheek. He leans over the wall dividing their cubicles and pushes at his shoulder gently. "Tomlinson," he whispers, "wake up. The day's done."

Louis snores in response, a light, snuffling sound.

"Tomlinson...Tomlinson? Louis."

Louis scoots in closer to his desk and shifts his head, burying it deeper into his crossed arms. Harry stands there for a good minute or so and sighs, ready to give in and just leave him there. He moves to turn around and thinks about Louis waking up in his cubicle the next morning, a crick his neck and nothing packed for their trip to London. _I guess I ought to take him home then..._

He shuffles forward carefully, ensuring that his shoes are quiet on the carpet as he moves. Louis shuffles in the slightest bit, snuffling again, and Harry sets his briefcase down and kneels beside him, poking his thigh in a last attempt to wake him up. Gently, he reaches forward and slips a hand under his thighs, plush and yielding under his palms. He then pulls him forward so that he's nestled into his chest and moves his shoulder so that Louis' arm will be limply wrapped around it. Louis moves only to clasp his hand on the curve of where his shoulder and neck meet, and Harry is only vaguely aware of how intimate this position is for two people who hate each other to no end.

And maybe his heart stutters a bit when Louis buries his face into his neck, soft breaths puffing and moisturizing the skin on his neck. He leans down to grab Louis' files and stuffs them into the man's satchel with swift, skilled hands before reaching for his briefcase and the keys on his desk. Out of the few times that he's thankful for being an alpha, this is one of them. He likes the strength it gives him, thinks that on any other day as any other person he wouldn't be able to do this as skillfully. _I'd do it anyway_ , probably. He cuts that train of thought short.

They stayed a bit later than everyone else had, so when Harry reaches the car garage, the lot is desolate. Harry hobbles to the passenger side of his old truck, slipping his keys into the locking and opening the door slowly because it tends to creak, obnoxiously so. He ducks down and sets Louis onto the leather seat, his motionless body shifting to shove his hands beneath his thighs and throw his head back against the crease of the seat. He purses his lips and watches him only a while, his chest moving with gentle breaths and distant heartbeats.

The drive is long because he lives two hours away, his home placement being the cause of his lateness. As the highway's yellow lights burn softly through the thin fog, Harry glances over at Louis' sleeping form is pressed against his thigh and curled up in his seat, light beams hitting his face until the shadows chase them away again.

 _He looks pretty like this,_ he thinks, eyes darting from the road to the curl of Louis' eyelashes, gleaming with tired tears. _When he's not having a strop about everything that doesn't go his way, when he's not at one-hundred between one to ten, when he's not thinking about anything else except of what he's doing in his dreams. He looks so lovely this way._

He blinks and switches lanes.

This is his problem. Whenever he thinks of Louis, it always ends up being longer than he wants it to be, and isn't it odd that those thoughts make his chest ache with something strong and profound? _It shouldn't be like that_ , his subconscious whispers firmly - he envisions himself crossing his arms and scowling. _Either I can blame it on biology and say it's the natural tug of attraction between omegas and alphas or I can simply admit that isn't just it._

He switches lanes again, spends the rest of the drive listening to the ruffling sounds of Louis shifting and glaring through the haze of the soft fog with their destination being the only thing on his mind. Louis' apartment complex, in his apartment home. Somewhere Harry's never been and never really expected to be in, if he's being honest.

Louis startles himself awake by the time Harry strolls down his street, and the first thing he does is wrinkle his nose. " _What_ is that _wretched_ odor? It smells like watery cologne and kale," he groans, voice stretched and strained with rested vocal chords. It adds a light rasp, and Harry attempts not to pay too much attention to detail.

"Quite a few of us enjoy smelling nice and managing our health at the same time. Wouldn't expect you to know anything about that," Harry murmurs, ducking his head to see which building has the correct address.

Louis rubs his eyes, swiping his fingers below his watering, cerulean eyes as he yawns and glowers simultaneously; Harry admits it's quite the talent to contort one's face into two things at once. "No, I wouldn't because I'm living my life _right_ , Styles. Living it by not being uptight and sticking to codes and rules."

"It's a wonder how you've managed to maintain this job," grumbles Harry, pulling into an empty space on the side of the street, directly in front of Louis' complex. The engine makes a ragged, stuttering sound as Harry pulls the keys from the ignition and peers up at the building. It's nothing to ring home about, chipping white paint and old designs pressing into the entry. It's small and quaint and it suits Louis just right.

"Because I know where the lines lie, Styles," Louis murmurs through a yawn, rubbing his stomach and punching a code into the number pad with smooth fingertips. The lock clicks, and he bends the handle down stepping into the foyer of the place.

The walls are painted seaweed green, making the lights bouncing off the walls come off as its color. It's small and a bit dingy, and the stairs are metal and cracked from its original color. Harry frowns at the lack of remodeling the place desperately needs, but he likes the fluorescent closure it gives him. _Feels like home_ , he thinks offhandedly as he follows Louis and lets him lead the way.

The hallway is identical to the foyer, but the walls are the colors of dry macaroons and withering lights that have been held up too long. Harry wrinkles his nose and surveys the hallway, looking left, then right. "You've obviously got the money to live in a better place. Why live in this one? Or is this another one of your poor decisions due to poor judgement?"

Louis hums softly, fishing his keys out of a satchel pocket and shoving it in the lock as his eyes trace the bold, golden numbers above his doorway. "No," he says idly, rubbing the soles of his shoes on a _Welcome Home_ mat, "I live here because I prefer it." He turns the lock and lets the door fall completely open. The response is less cunning than Harry expected, and he suspects that his little nap has softened him. His eyebrows twitch in wonderment. 

After stepping in after him and shutting the door, he surveys what he can see of the apartment. It looks smaller on the outside, but if he really looks at it, the place could pass off as a condo. There's a plush black couch in the middle of the living room area with flat screen TV in front of it, but the screen is coated with dust and the remote is in a similar condition, lying stationary below it. There are files, papers, and books everywhere. On the table, on the floor, by the TV, near the doorway - it nearly covers every inch of the floor, and Harry can see where he's made pathways for himself. Harry always knew Louis liked to read, but this hadn't looked to be a likely outcome of it. "You're a hoarder, Tomlinson?"

"Mm." Louis toes his converse off and trudges down a pathway leading to a darkened hallway, and Harry can hear claws upon hardwood floors before he can see the source of the noise - a white, rag-doll kitten with a kaleidoscope collar lightly trotting its way to the sounds it heard. Louis bends down and coos immediately upon seeing it, lifting it high above his head. "Well, how were we today, hmm? I suspect Mr. Howard came over and fed you and gave you a good, clean bath, yeah, Opal?" He cradles it to his chest and pets his hand between its ears; Opal sinks in his arms and purrs.

Harry almost feels a bit put out for being forgotten so easily and clears his throat, still standing in the doorway with locked knees. Louis' lips quirk up in a half-smile. "Someone a bit needy for my attention, hm?" He turns back to Opal and pouts. "So used to having my attention on him all the time, thinks he's so special. But he isn't, no, no, no, he isn't!"

Harry glowers, shrugging off his jacket and placing it on a hook by the door. He steps forward once, and Louis turns sharply, glaring with cutting eyes. "Lock the door - _every_ lock, take your filthy shoes off, and put your coat on the _third_ hook, not the first." He tosses him his keys, and he catches them with stumbling fingers. "The keys belong on the first hook. Animal," he mutters, turning down into the shadows of the hallway.

Harry blinks and does as he's asked, craning his head to continue looking at the hallway as he fixes his jacket's placement and places the keys there instead. "Someone's a bit picky?" he calls, frowning. He wanders down the hallway, can see a creamy, dandelion light casting itself on polished floors at the end of it. There are four other doors, all of them closed with gleaming handles. The floorboards creak beneath his weight as he meets the doorway.

Louis lies on his bed in only a loose t-shirt, on top of a crookedly-sewn quilt with a cartoonish cat on each square. With his exposed legs crossed with Opal in his lap, his hand is in its fur, petting absent-mindedly. His head is tilted, fringe fallen now without all the product, glimmering in the light of an antique lamp. He smiles, partly, and says, "Are you standing there all night, waiting for an invitation, Styles? Enjoying the view?"

 _Maybe I am_ , he almost says. He refrains and steps in, and the floor startlingly lacks little to no books on the floors. The walls are crowded with paintings of gnarled hands and vanishing faces, and polaroids on strings, reaching from one edge to another behind his headboard. They're all blurry and blue, faded photos illuminating a subject through the dark. "You've done all this?"

"Yes," Louis answers without looking up, slipping a finger beneath Opal's collar. "You say that like you wouldn't have expected me to be capable of it."

Harry makes a light _ehh_ and digests the room in its entirety. "I just can't fathom how you would be able to manage to accumulate all of this with the amount of time we're in the field and in the office." His hands are in his pockets, fingers grappling with loose change and stray lint that he pushes in the corner.

"This has been my home for as long as I remember - since I was eighteen and shared it with one of my old mates. Had to kick him out, though; he wanted too much from me," Louis recalls, pulling his legs over the side of the bed and placing Opal on the floor beside him. Opal trots to Harry immediately, gapes up at him with wide ocean eyes and its small paws on his feet.

Harry flushes and steps to the side. "What's its gender?"

Louis glances at him over his shoulder, fishing something from his nightstand (splattered with pastel paint). "Why do you pick it up and find out?" He's met with silence and the sounds of shuffling, and he turns around fully, a smirk on his lips that never seems to leave them. "Are you scared of cats, Styles?"

Harry startles and frowns, affronted. "No, of course not. I can pick it up. I don't interact with animals very well, is all." He looks down to where Opal is grooming itself and picks it up mid-lick, lifting it to his face to examine its genitals. "A girl." He sets her down again. "All you had to do was tell me. You always do so much -"

"Are you planning on staying here tonight?"

The question startles him, and he blinks heavily. He hadn't thought about it - the objective was to get Louis home, but he stepped inside and took his jacket and shoes off like he was planning on staying. One thing he hates is to stumble over his words, so he clenches his jaw, sets his mouth in a hard line, and nods tightly.

He starts with his dress shirt, tugging it free from the restraints of his pants before gripping it and waiting like he's expecting for Louis to do something. It's the most surreal thing in the world, getting undressed in front of a man you'd been so sure that you hated for years now. He wishes desperately that the lights were off, so Louis wouldn't see so much of him because he sleeps bare, but he won't have the option for it when they're holed up in a room together. He moves to his buttons, the dulled sounds of popping echoing from the corners and lets the smooth fabric fall from his arms.

Louis' breath is stuck in his throat, paralyzed with something that feels like a cross between shock and longing. His skin is etched in with dark tattoos - on his arms, his chest, his stomach, his hips. He's vaguely surprised that the man doesn't have a full sleeve with the amount of tattoos on his left arm. He pulls his gaze away after enough convincing and sinks his fingers into the heat of his palm. "I, uh, have a guest room down the hall, but -"

"Oh -"

"But it would make more sense if you slept with me because. Well, we'll need to, anyway for the next few weeks." He pauses, and the moment extends with stiff saturnity before his words spill like rain from a gutter, fingers flipping up the hem of his tee. "Why don't we just cuddle? To get used to the contact. Wouldn't want anyone asking questions about why I'm so startled every time you touch me, so."

Harry is fascinated, peering at him with his eyes shaded by the curve of his lengthy hair. He sees Louis now, at an entirely different wavelength and amplitude than the one he puts on in the office and sometimes even on the field. His unquiet hands are still in his lap, ruler-straight back slumped in some sort of submission, body and skin softening under the hollow light. He unbuckles his belt next with a minuscule shoulder shrug. "I don't see why not."

Louis sighs and shudders full body then stands and stretches with the hem of shirt still caught on his pinky. It rises over his stomach, and it falls just as fast, but Harry sees it - a sparkling dot where his belly button should be, the underpants with cartoon doodles of bizarre things all over it. He doesn't mean to be seen staring, but Louis snaps his fingers, face callous with a playful twinkle in his eyes. "My face is on my head, Styles." Harry doesn't even get to blush properly before he's tugging the sheets back and asking, "Little spoon or big spoon?"

Harry rubs his face, releasing the seam of his pants and letting them fall from his small waist because he's certain he's never blushed this much in his life in such little time. He knows of no such thing as shame. With his hands over his eyes, he murmurs, "Turn the lights out and I'll decide."

There's a sharp click, and the light that once filtered through his fingers melts down into dimness, but he still refuses to move his hands - he'd like a moment to relax himself, remind himself that this won't be permanent and they'll go right back to hating each other with their sinister banter.

There's the padding of feet, closer and closer until he can feel a presence before him, and small hands wrap around his wrists and pull his hands from his flushed face, fingers pressing into the inside of his wrists. Harry can't see much of Louis, and he supposes that's good because then that means Louis can't see much of him either, nothing but the full moon's light dribbling through thin silver curtains to illuminate them both.

Louis' hands linger on him for longer than he thinks they should before he steps out of his space. Harry can see half of his face only, his eyes wide and wild and glimmering. "Nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be afraid of. Just give me an answer, Harry." He smiles slightly. "Or should I say Edward?"

Harry admires him for his valiant effort to lighten the mood and clear his gracelessness and wonders why he can't be more pleasant like this at work. "Well, it's traditional and only sensible for the alpha to spoon the omega, but..."

"But?"

Harry scratches the back of his neck. "I'd like to be spooned this time." He almost feels bad for asking, considering that Louis is much smaller than he is and he could very well roll over him and suffocate him in his sleep -

"Alright then. Come in the bed, c'mon, let's have you," Louis is saying, rounding back over to what Harry thinks is his side of the bed. He slips under the quilt and adjusts and is left lying there for a while. Harry can't seem to move, can't register how he accepted his request so easily because their dynamics are heavily enforced upon in society. Louis pats the empty space beside him. "C'mon, it takes two to spoon, takes getting under the covers to spoon." He pauses and grins, letting his head fall against his pillow. "Ha. Under cover."

Harry rolls his eyes and shakes himself, propels himself forward until he's slipping under the quilt and turning his back to the other man. He flinches upon feeling Louis' fingers skim over his side and flushes for what feels like one thousandth time that night. Then Louis' arms are curving around him, one arm wiggling beneath him and one arm sliding below the space between his arm and his side. He can feel heat radiate off of his chest, feels his heart pounding against his back even with his shirt on. Slow, controlled breaths puff against the skin of his shoulder blade, and Harry feels awfully comfortable in a bed he's never slept in before, held by a man he thought he never liked enough to allow this.

"To be quite honest," Louis whispers, the cut of his voice softened with brewing lethargy as he yawns, "I like it best like this. I don't want people looking at my back. And warning, I go a bit...haywire when I wake up. Might wanna try to get up before me so you can go back to your apartment...and pack..."

He's coasting on the line between slumber and wakefulness, fingers falling limp against the line of Harry's pec. Harry's lips quirk up as he listens to the nonsensical murmurs he makes, his small hand twitching vaguely against him.

"'M gonna wake up with this gunk in my hair cos I didn't take a shower," Louis yawns, resting his forehead between the larger man's shoulder blades. "Do it in the morning. Have to take my...my bike with me."

Harry snorts, shifting. "How will you manage to take a bike on a plane? That's not possible, is it?"

"Dunno. Maybe I should try." His voice ebbs, and he moves closer, cold knees pressing into Harry's thighs and lips brushing against his skin. It's enough to make him shiver. "You're a good man, Harry Styles. Nobody ever tells you enough, especially not me...but you are..."

It makes him feel so unbearably warm inside and out, his tired words and smooth skin. He wants to brush the feeling off so badly, wants to stop goosebumps from rising on his skin, wants fight the feeling of wanting to hold him closer, but it can't be helped, not when his mind is drifting and gentle. And while he lies there with his eyes slipping closed with ease, he doesn't know why it means so much to him, hearing Louis give him a sort of compliment. He hates him, right? He does. He hates him as he rubs his thumb over the dip between his thumb and forefinger, hates him as he inhales his lavender scent through his nose. His body relaxes into the mattress as his train of thoughts relent.

*

_Louis' legs are strapped down to the legs of the chair he's been sitting in for ages, arms and hands bound behind the back of it with rope. The air reeks of the metallic smell of blood - his blood - and everything around him feels muggy and brittle. He can't feel his limbs anymore. He can't feel anything anymore._

_He's been blindfolded - he hasn't been able to see much of anything, save for the times his captors want him to "look us in the eye as we strip you of everything you've aspired to be" so they can show him "who really has the upper-hand here." But the blindfold is torn off of his face, the upper part of his face exposed to the air and the dim beige light blinding him. He can finally feel the tears he'd shed dry on his face as he squeezes his eyes shut, wincing before blinking them rapidly, trying to get them to adjust to what little light there is._

_His captors have bandannas covering their noses and mouths, so Louis can't see much else accept for their eyes. There are two of them, hovering over him and glaring down at him with eyes bright with malice and dark intentions. Demons in the shadows with crooked red grins painted on their bandannas and pointed knives behind their backs._

_He's slapped across his face sharply, and he doesn't expect it. The chair topples over a bit as he stifles a grunt, gritting his teeth. He supposes that he should be accustomed to the pain, it's been so long since he's been free from whatever fresh hell this is, but he also supposes that it doesn't mean he's numb from the pain. Not yet._

_His chin is clutched by a rough, calloused hand as the man forces his face to look in his direction. Louis' cobalt eyes meet murky ones; dulled fear meets cutting malice. "Look at me when I approach you. I thought you'd learn that by now, Agent," he teases before shoving his chin back._

_Louis, still dazed by the slap, sits and watches as his two captors warily as the blue-eyed blonde one paces slowly and the green-eyed red-head stands behind him. Louis wants to try to negotiate again, he lost the will to be a smart-ass long ago (was it that long ago, though? He can't remember). His voice is a mere rasp, a remnant of what it used to be because of all the screaming he's done, but he makes due. "I'll - whatever you want from me, I'll give it to you, just - just take me to a hospital. Please. I - I don't know how much blood I've lost, but if you just take me to a hospital -"_

_"What do you need a hospital for, pretty boy? Good 'ol Grant patched you up nice and well, didn't he?" the blonde says, leaning over to pat the gauze covering the worst of his wounds. By the crinkle of his eyes, Louis can tell that he's grinning and - smack! The sound of the slap he receives to his other cheek echoes against the walls, and the chair is toppling all the way over now and he's falling falling falling down into the abyss of bruises and belittlement, falling until the world turns red and black, falling until he hits the ground with a -_

Louis wakes with a start, with his legs kicking the quilt off the bed and his hands curled into tight balls, arms quivering as he sits immobilized in his bed. His eyes are wild and searching, flitting around every surface of the room that he can see because he wants to make sure he's really there, and he starts to count down from one hundred and twenty until his breaths slow and his arms stop shaking. He sucks in a breath through his dry throat and glances down beside him to find the spot empty, the pillow imprinted with where Harry's head was.

He exhales and kicks his legs over the side of the bed. "Alright," he mumbles, shifting his feet into his slippers and sitting there for a while longer. He checks the clock on his phone, fingers still trembling a bit as he presses down on the home button. _5:16. As always._ Faded blue light streams through the curtains, the sun's early horizon shimmering across the floor. The room blossoms with the color, his illustrations jumping off the page at him in bold colors. He's tempted to take a photograph, but he can't feel his hands. _Not today._

He stretches the waist band on his pants, strategically places his phone beside his dick, and pads around to the other side of his bed and picks Opal up with careful arms, so not to rouse her as he strolls down the hallway and pets her, cooing, "How did you like Harry, hmm, love? He wasn't so bad, was he? No, he wasn't. He wasn't at all. He was lovely, wasn't he?"

He sets her down on the floor, and she peers up at him with wide knowing eyes. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, opening a cupboard for a tea bag and a mug. "Whatever, Opal, what do you know?" He fills his teapot with water and taps his foot, surveying his view from the window above his sink. His chest feels tight, and he feels restless, as always. "I'm not - there's no telling him, and he doesn't need to know. I can do this case and not catch anymore feelings." Opal snuffs, and he glowers. "I _can_. Watch me."

Opal makes a small noise, and Louis registers it as disapproval and huffs, leaning down and picking her up. "You talk too much - here, eat your breakfast," he mumbles, setting her in front of her food bowl and sprinkling cat food in it. He crouches down and pinches the tip of her ear gently. "'Suppose I should take a shower and start to pack, yeah? The first thing I ever do to be on time," he mumbles and shivers, standing to turn up the thermostat and slumping into the gloom of his hallway. Opal glances after him, ears twitching curiously.

*

Harry has been standing under the heated spray of the shower for twenty minutes, hasn't been able to relax himself since he left Louis' apartment and slipped out of his arms in the dead of night. He can almost feel his skin beneath his hands, still, gentle breaths warming the nape of his neck, soft tufts of hair tickling his skin. His breaths and thoughts have been running rampant since, can remember clutching the steering wheel like a lifeline while he watched the highway lights flicker past.

The logical section of his mind reasons with himself that this is panicking over nothing, but the logical section of his mind also knows that he likes keeping as much of himself shaded in as possible around the people he doesn't trust, and as of late, he doesn't trust anyone. Melodramatic and typical as it may be, his past is too heavy with things he'd rather keep to himself, things that people would be tempted to talk about if they knew. He exposes the bare minimum about himself, enough to pacify those around him, and he keeps it moving.

The more he dwells on this case, the more he contemplates what will be required of him to reveal during it. He's put himself on autopilot with the questions he's asked often, because he knows how to respond to those things with ambiguous answers and keep himself inviolable. But Louis is one to poke and prod and not leave it alone until he has what he's looking for, which is part of why Harry hates (hated?) him so much. He's unwilling to disclose any information he doesn't want anyone but him to know.

He attempted to get the rest he knew he wouldn't be able to receive on his own once he got to his home, and slept for a total of thirty minutes before he was up again, pacing and scanning over the same files he reviewed at work until his eyes were sore in their sockets. He traveled deep into his closet to pack clothes he hasn't even glanced at in years, and now he's here, beneath the relentless fine mist of the shower, his hair ends splitting into creaks and rivers down his back as he lets water pool above the cleft of his cheek. _It'll be fine. You'll do what you always do and say what you always say, just with the added touching. Nothing I can't do._

 

Harry sits in his car, windows rolled down as the wind gently rustles by, sunlight filtering throughout the car. The only noises his ears are swimming in are the sounds of his fingers tapping on the steering wheel and the tweeting birds who have occupied the front of Louis' complex, and he's distracting himself only to calm his nerves. He stops his bustling fingers and shoves them between his thighs, giving himself another once-over because he looks very different, much different than what he regularly looks like. He has aviators sitting atop the bridge of his nose and a sheer button-up shirt with pink florals upon a black background, three buttons hanging open enough for the pecs of his chest to be loose. His jeans are tight, almost suffocating, but he can accommodate. _Why am I so nervous? I need to relax._ He's gone undercover as a couple with other people before, so surely this isn't any different. _Except this is for far longer, with someone who I don't - or didn't - like and likes to stick his nose in everyone's business -_

His thoughts stutter and stall when the passenger door opens and - and Louis looks _really good._ Better than normal, actually. Maybe it's just the lighting or maybe Harry's mind is still hazy from the lack of sleep he got, but - Louis's hair lacks the product it usually has, feathery, chestnut locks falling to curve his cheekbone. He's dressed in a dark blue button-down with flowers the size of fists, shaping his compact curves _just right_ with a pair of black skinny jeans that hug the skin of his legs close enough for it to look painted on. He slips into the car with unparalleled grace and control, hair fluttering with the breeze. He turns and grins at him a bit. "Morning, Curly."

Harry doesn't know what to say after appearing to be so shell-shocked by Louis' appearance, really, so he faces forward and puts both hands on the wheel. "Where's your luggage? Your satchel?"

Louis rolls his eyes and scoffs, snapping the strap of his satchel against his shoulder before lifting it over his head and placing it in his lap. "It's right here, Dad. And my luggage is in the back with yours, along with my bike. You know, you're not doing as well at this couple practice thing as I thought you would; a few compliments go a long way -"

"You're really going through with taking your bike on an airplane ride? Alright then," He murmurs, turning the ignition on and putting his car into drive. He catches the thing glinting in his rear view mirror, white with polka dots riddling the metal and the seat. He finds this a bit endearing, seeing how Louis has been secretly infatuated with the likes of art. He squints and pulls out into the street. "You look good. Better than usual."

Louis thinks Harry doesn't catch the way his cheeks heat, the way he ducks his head between his shoulders and pulls at his bottom lip, but he can see it all through his peripheral vision. _This is nice. This is comfortable. Maybe this won't be as bad as I think it will -_ And then Louis is shoving his fingers into his side to make him jerk in his seat and glare. His grin is wolf-like, lips splitting apart so wide that his teeth are sinking into his lower lip, eyes crinkling up to where his eyelashes are only visible. "You don't look half bad yourself, Styles."

And then - Louis does it on impulse, thinks that if he doesn't do it now, there'll not be enough courage to scrounge up when he tries for it later. He reaches over and takes his hand, fingers curling over the top of Harry's. _Warm_ is the first word that comes to mind when their skin makes contact, and he shivers like he's cold and they're not even holding hands yet, not really, but the flush on his cheeks is so prominent. He wills it away, and it only comes back with more force and color, vibrant on his honeyed skin.

Harry is startled by the smooth touch of his hand, and he even jumps a bit when he first feels it. He stares down at Louis' small, tentative hand as it brushes over the top of his and lands on it like a helicopter discovering its mark. With one eyebrow arched in incredulity, it doesn't even pass his flickering thoughts that he doesn't move his hand away out of instinct. He wants to speak and say something, and he doesn't know what he's gonna say, but his mouth opens anyway. "Uh -"

Louis curls his fingers around his hand tighter, turning it until his palm is facing the ceiling of the car. Before he can lose his nerve - by all means, he's already lost it with how slow he's moving; his heart is in overdrive - he slides his palm against the larger man's and intertwines their fingers, placing their tangled hands over the armrest. He turns his red face to the window to conceal himself, but Harry's eyes have already been flickering from his face to their hands to the road and back. Their fingers are loose, but Louis does it just in case he's rejected; he's ready to fight for his cause, already thinking of what he should say. _We should really give this a try now so later we don't look like we're too unfamiliar with each other to be genuinely in love -_

Harry squeezes his hand lightly and moves their hands so that it's over the shift stick. He puts it in drive and pulls out. Neither of them say a word for a long while and it's a good fifteen minutes or so until Louis interrupts the pregnant silence, jerking their hands a little. "Ah. So I was thinking that we should - we should get used to being attached at the hip. 'M the -" Louis, without releasing Harry's hand, leans down and digs into his satchel a bit before pulling out the file and opening it, setting it down in his lap. "I'm supposed to fill out the 'good omega' stereotypes, and you're supposed to fill out your alpha stereotypes. Well." He snorts, flipping it back to the cover and shoving it back into his bag. "That's not happening -"

"Hm," Harry hums nonchalantly, distracted because it's a bit difficult driving with one hand for him, eyes glancing over to their hands over the armrest before he conjures an idea. He drags his eyes over to where Louis sits and grins tooth-achingly sweet in a way the smaller man has never seen him smile before and squeezes his hand. " _Baby..._ "

Goosebumps break over Louis' skin, shivers sailing between the knobs of his spine at the older man's honey-sweet tone, and his eyes slide over to his profile, zeroing in on his submerging dimple and exquisite crinkles, on the contrast between his lurid tattoos and cadaverous skin - he stops himself before he can go any farther. _He's only playing the part. I need to relax. This is fine._ "Yes, love?" he sighs, batting his eyelashes and tilting his head in a way he knows makes his eyes glitter.

"I don't drive well with only one of my hands, so if you could let go of that one, I'd give you the world and more. We'll get to the airport much faster. That's what you want, isn't it? You know I'm always ready to give you what you want," Harry purrs, tightening and loosening his grip sporadically. It feels too genuine, too easy for it to just feel like he's pretending, but he supposes he's made an art out of it after all this time.

Louis' breath hitches and catches in his mouth as he blinks, letting his eyelashes drag over his cheeks like a paint brush to its canvas, but he releases the man's hand, fingertips gliding over his palm as his heart pounds in his throat. He's never been more thankful for deodorant then he has right then and there because he's sweating up a storm in his shirt, heat building up beneath his collar.

"Thank you," Harry says, placing both hands on the wheel and resisting the urge to wipe them both on his trousers because of the sweat seeping through his pores.

Louis clears his throat, digging his blunt nails into his thighs to relax his nerves because his _voice_ has got him worked up, _honestly_ , and they have to keep this up for several weeks. "I didn't know you could act, Styles," he teases, albeit shakily.

Harry shrugs a shoulder and frowns fretfully, bringing his hand up to smooth his fingers over his lower lip. Louis traces his movements, head slanted low against his chest. "Mind you, I've done a case like this before, but only very briefly. Three days tops. With how long we've been assigned to this case, it's going to take a while to find our guy. I'm just hoping you've got the patience to last that long."

Louis scoffs and broods, tsking dismissively. He has that smile on his face, the one that makes his eyes crinkle and makes him look like he's up to no good. He rolls his eyes. "Pardon me, but 'patience' is my middle name. I've got patience!" Harry gives him a look that tells him he believes otherwise, doubtful and knowing. "I do! Honest!" he insists, sitting up further and turning his body towards him.

"Whatever you say, love," Harry murmurs, and the name slides off of his tongue, so simple and clean that he almost wants to say something else so Louis doesn't catch it because they're not in character right now (are they?) and -

"Right. You're the alpha, the dominant one, so you're supposed to be pampering me and showering me with all your love and attention, yeah? You just passed the entrance, darling," Louis tacks on, grinning like he's telepathic and can read Harry's thoughts, but he busies himself with adjusting his satchel on his shoulder and fumbling with his fringe. "You'll get my luggage, won't you, dear?"

Harry puts the car in reverse and pulls back before stopping and pulling the keys out of the ignition all with a smile on his face. Louis' never seen him smile so much in all of the years they've been partners; he can imagine that his cheeks hurt with it. "Don't count on it, baby," he purrs, stepping out of the car.

Louis steps out with him and follows him to the trunk with a roll of his eyes, stumbling and grunting when the man tosses one of his bags into his unprepared arms. His fringe falters into his eyes, and he blows the luxuriant locks out of his sight with a curt huff and a glower. He beams then, all teeth and crinkles with the tips of his eyelashes sparkling. "I don't think you know what pampering means yet, dove. That's alright, you'll learn," he says with a positive lilt, patting his cheek with an available hand.

***

The air is dense where they stand as the sun illuminates through the over-sized windows of the airport, a spectrum of canary and dandelion across cotton white floor tiles. "Would you mind telling me why you thought it would be a good idea to grab our tickets at the last minute, _darling_?" Louis hisses in Harry's ear.

They've been standing in a line as long as the Nile River for about forty-five minutes now, and the circulation to Louis' fingers has been cut off due to the strap of his luggage weighing down on them, his fingertips swollen ruby red. And this kid behind them is relentless with calling for his mother, Jesus - "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! _Mooooom -!_ "

"I'm gonna snatch every single hair out of his head, one by one," His tone is light and lovely as ever, but he has threat in his eyes like he's really ready to do it. "I swear. He's been at it for like an _hour_ \- how are his vocal chords not collapsing?" Louis grumbles, irate and exhausted. He's tempted to run a hand through his hair, but he quite likes how he has it now and opts for biting his thumbnail instead, wishing to be home more than anything at this moment and forget about the previous night, erase the feelings attached.

Harry casts his eyes on him for a moment, grinning the tiniest bit at the thought of trying his hand at this whole loved-up-couple thing again. It won't hurt trying to familiarize themselves with it a bit more, anyhow. He gazes at his profile, his face wrenched with discomfort and chafe, body stiff where it stands, when he slides a gentle hand across the planes of his lower back and dips down until his lips are against his ear. They quiver with the slightest signs of nervousness before he's speaking, lips rubbing against the soft curve of his ear. "Relax, love."

Louis' heartbeat is on a plane ride with absent pilots and a trip to the center of the earth as it plummets into something frantic and fast-paced, increasing his breaths even though he's done nothing but stand there, step forward, stand there, step forward. He almost wants to back out immediately and call Irving to tell him that Harry can find another partner. And it's with Harry's gestures that he sinks his teeth into the skin of his thumb. He hisses, snatching his hand away from his mouth and latching it onto the hem of his shirt, fiddling with a loose thread. _How convenient it would be to just black out for the next few weeks and put myself on autopilot._ He nods against him anyway, gradually so.

A startled, high-pitch noise erupts from the mouth of the mother behind him, and Harry looks at her without turning his head, watching as she turns her child away from the likes of them. He grins. _Ah, the average homophobe. Why not give her a show while she's stuck looking?_

Tilting his head, he buries his teeth into his earlobe and closes his lips around it, suckling on it obscenely. Louis gasps as quietly as he can manage, shivering as his eyes fall shut. The wet heat of Harry's mouth around his earlobe - one of his most sensitive spots - makes him stir uncomfortably in his pants, but he can't shove him away without looking suspicious (not that he'd really want to). He clutches the hem of his shirt like a lifeline, clenching his stomach and bracing himself like he's preparing to get winded by an impressive punch with an impressive set of knuckles. He shudders out a breath when Harry releases it, refusing to open his eyes out of fear that the world will tilt in front of him and fall straight out of orbit, taking him with it to drop into the open, endless, obsidian space.

The warmth that Harry's hand offers travels from his lower back to his shoulder, squeezing with experienced fingers. Louis' body submits to tranquility, and he breathes in and out, cheeks scorching. The tips of the taller man's hair grazes his neck as he leans in ever closer, wicked lips smiling against him. "You relaxed yet?"

Louis nods. _So this is how he wants to do this. Wants to play games._ His arm slithers around his reedy waist. "I am." He drags his lips along the edge of his collar bone, sobbing out a hitched breath. He lowers his voice, tone heavy. "But don't forget," his teeth come into play, biting lightly to hear him gasp, "that the master of game playing here," he sucks a kiss into the juncture of his jaw, "is _me_."


	2. holding my hand in the pale gloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Learning to be familiar with another person's skin. It's easier when it's all just a game and things only ever happen at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***15 chapters being the final number of chapters is a mere estimate - it could end up being more or less. it depends***
> 
> warning: more spy and fbi and location inaccuracies for plot convenience. sorry!

Louis' lips and face feel ablaze by the time he sits down with his luggage, waiting for their plane to arrive and depart. His throat is too constricted for him to bother to speak as he grips the handle of the cart that upholds a cardboard box and three of his bags, a strong, weighty scent filling his nostrils - something like cologne and tree bark and dewdrops in the remiss morning, thick sunbeams irradiating grass blades.

Harry's presence is still persistent behind him, his scent and his grin and his flashing eyes. Louis can't quite tell if he likes Harry this way, teasing and intense, or if he'd rather have him how he usually is, regular and detached. His knuckles turn white in his clutch around the handle, blinking his burning eyes to realize he's been standing in front of his seat for five, long minutes with Harry's hand on his thigh, his contriving, cheeky voice telling him to _Sit down a moment, love. These things do tend to take time._ He's inclined to swipe his hand across his face for a sound smack, but he turns to lour at him as he lowers himself into his seat. As quick as a blink, he grins, as sweet as the sun. "I'll have you know, darling," he slaps his hand down on top of his and squeezes with more force than necessary, "that I don't like being challenged in a condescending manner. I'm twenty-five, _not_ five, love."

Harry hums and squeezes his hand back, with reduced force because he's certain he would hurt him otherwise, leaning in until the edges of his lips are brushing against his cheek. "I'll tell you a trick I learned, _William_ \- everything is better when you make a game out of it. You like playing games, don't you? Or - or are you only upset because the upper hand isn't yours anymore?"

Louis rolls his eyes, cheeks a watermelon tint. His hand carries his fingers to stroke the cut of Harry's chin. "I don't think I like this side of you. This kind of you talks too much."

"Why don't you shut me up like I know you can, then?"

Louis snorts, pulling his face back with his fingers gripping his chin now. He's smiling, looking like he's up to no good with all sorts of strategies on how to make things turn his way. "You're smart, _Edward_. You know all the right words, but I'm not so easy to persuade and control. We both know that, don't we? 'M no typical, "good" omega." He propels himself forward, cheeks brushing, fire to gasoline. His lips meet with the shell of his ear, stammering gasps against his skin. He tilts his voice into something high and desperate, eyelashes tickling his ear, "Not unless you want me to be." Louis likes to make it his mission in life to show that Harry is good, but he's always better. _Maybe that way, he can see what he's missing._

Harry's hand falls on the delicate curve of his shoulder, heat waves seeping through the thin material while Louis trails his fingers along the space between his pecs, his skin just as soft as he remembers from the night prior. "I'm just making a mere suggestion, Will. Let's make a game out of this - see how flustered we can get one another until one of us is ready to put out?"

Louis digs the blunt of his fingernail in his skin to hear him hiss, smirking as he presses his nose into his hair. He will revel in this, this closeness and electricity sparking between them. In his heavy scent and the canvas of his skin. His face glows. "Where has this part of you been all this time? I would've liked you much better this way from the start, you know. Much, much better."

"Because I'm not like you - I know when, why, and where to be inappropriate. I have my reasons, and you - you're spontaneous. You burst with whatever fills you up -" Louis snickers, "- and you're restless. You're going at one thousand miles per hour, and you don't hit the brakes because you've ripped them from their outlet. I, on the other hand, know when to go fast or slow because I read the signs on the side of the road." His grasp clenches on his shoulder. "We're different, you and I, and we both know that." His voice dips into something sweet and cumbersome, the alpha resonance of it shaking Louis' rib cage, making his heartstrings go taut. "But I don't think we'd be so bad, if we collided for a while."

Louis shoves the heel of his hand into his shoulder, cool air pooling into the space between them. He frowns and rolls his eyes. "What, is this one of the little tricks you use when you're out to pull?" he grumbles, crossing his arms and examining his nails before bringing his thumb up between his teeth to bite.

Harry snorts, gliding his hand down his arm, letting his fingers linger over his tattooed wrist. "You really _are_ mad that you're having to fight for control. I have to admit, this is quite fun seeing you this ruffled over it. Think you should just let it go -"

"My control is all I _have_ ," Louis snaps, eyebrows narrowed and lips turned up into something that's meant to be a snarl, but looks more like he's about to sneeze. "I'm - you know, as an omega, I'm expected to just give it up or not have it at all. A lot of things are expected of me as a person and as an omega, and I'm not willing to be those things people expect of me. So, sorry if I'm not your typical omega." Louis' face is pinched and cowers into himself, sinking in his chair. He's uncomfortable and slightly aroused and a bit angry, as always, and he'd quite like to back out of this case and go home. Niall would willingly take his spot.

Harry hums and curls his hand around his wrist, shifting his hand up until their fingers intertwine; it's so nice, touching him like this and reveling in their size difference, feeling like he could encompass him and keep from flying up from the ground like a hot air balloon. He leans in, landing a sloppy kiss to his flushed cheek. "Don't be like that, love." _You don't need to be anything for me, and I don't expect anything of you_ , he almost says. He keeps it to himself and locks it in a vault, along with any lingering thoughts and feelings that aren't safe and sure.

Louis wipes his cheek and rolls his eyes, lips quirking up in an impish smile. Whatever. This is nice enough as it is. _I can handle it_ , he thinks. _I can handle this._ "Well, aren't _you_ a sweetheart? Getting all soft and sweet with me now, hmm? Think you've had a bit more practice than the case before, just look at you," he chirps, pinching Harry's dimpled cheek as his breath catches in the revelation that he can touch him for now, for however long this takes. He will bask in it, radiate its warm glow and gentle touch. "You're giving me tooth aches here."

Harry chortles, making a sound between a gurgle and a snort, and smacks Louis' hand from his face. His face does hurt a bit; he hasn't smiled this much in months, years, maybe, but that's a bit of a stretch. "You're my boyfriend, not my grandmother. I've not got much cheek to pinch as it is. Cheeks are too sharp."

Louis wrinkles his nose and pinches the tip of Harry's. He's so lovely when he's like this, skin honeyed and flushed like a blooming pink rose, eyes crinkling and creasing from his smile like parchment. He embodies a sunflower, and he's as soft as one, too. "No cheek is too sharp for me to pinch, love. Every cheek is pinchable."

Harry gazes at him a bit, grinning. He could allow this comfort and closeness for a while, for however long it lasts until their relationship resets. It makes him feel nice in a way he hasn't felt in years upon years. He locks his head in the space between his neck and collarbone, squeezes his shoulder when he shivers from the tickle of his hair. "If you say so."

*

"You sure you can handle being seated for seven hours and thirty minutes?" Harry inquires, sitting down and buckling himself into the outside seat - Louis insisted he have the window seat for his polaroids. The afternoon light illuminates their profiles, blue skies and lingering clouds, wisps of dreams in the humid air.

Louis has shifted in his seat five times already, and they're not even in the air yet. To be honest, they've been in the air for far longer before, but Louis is on edge, the nerves in his fingertips wired, shocks running through his body. He wants to see how long he can touch Harry for and get away with it, wants to slip his arm through his and rest his head on his shoulder. He wants to see so many things, try so many things with Harry all in such little time because no case they bother with lasts for much longer than three weeks. Louis huffs and glares, stroking his fringe to the side indignantly. "I can. Of course I can."

Harry knows he can't based on the way he's been shuffling endlessly for the past few minutes, so he taps his satchel, fingertips making light sounds on brown leather. "How about we pull out these files and have another look? Have a fresh perspective of things - besides, we'll probably have to look at them again tonight as it is."

"I'd actually rather not spend our night and day burning holes through these papers with my eyes," Louis murmurs, already loosening the latch on his bag and pulling the files out between them, "but you know best, don't you? As always."

Harry exhales through his nose and side-eyes him, and Louis can't seem to look him in the face, opts for looking out the window instead because the weather seems more interesting than explaining his off-hand comment. "Look, I - I know I can be a prick about that sometimes, about acting like I know more than you do, and I'm sorry for it. Surely, we can set aside our differences just this once for a little while? I've a proposition for you, to make things more fun."

Louis' breath catches because as much as he tries to convince himself that he's fine with having all of this for the time being until things go back to the way they were, this isn't really what he wants. Harry never came off to him as a no-strings kind of guy, but it isn't exactly something you can guess from people like him. Harry has barriers like Louis has, but Louis' are thicker - steel walls over brick ones, guards with guns in high towers, watch lights over anyone who tries to break him in and anything that tries to break out. _I want to hold your hand - I always want to hold your hand, and I want to touch you and latch onto you and never release. I've wanted and I'll want for the rest of my life and the whole of eternity. And it sucks._ He turns to him instead and grins. "Well, I'm all for propositions. So, tell me, what is this proposition of yours?"

Harry grins back, all deep dimples and flashing eyes - the kind of charm and sway that he's been missing all this time. "We've both got functioning eyes - you're attractive, I'm attractive. We're both vaguely intrigued with each other, and I'm willing to admit there's something about you that's magnetic and tempting. I'm saying we should fuck." This is something he's mastered over the several long and jaded years - he knows how to get what he wants and what he needs to say to get it. The flush of Louis' cheeks give him away and lets Harry know that he's piqued his interest - and his imagination.

Louis arches an eyebrow. "No strings, hmm?"

Harry shakes his head and tilts his eyebrow in a mirroring fashion. "No strings."

 _I don't want that - I don't want any of this if I can't do the same when this case is over._ He nods slowly and smiles tightly, leaning back into his seat. "Awfully tempting proposition. It wouldn't be so bad - might get you to really relax a bit for the first time in ages." He crosses his legs, and Harry's eyes drop down to examine the width and thickness of his thighs openly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Fine. I accept your proposition. As long as you promise that there won't be any strings."

The pause and silence slides in the space between them, thick and pregnant because they're both hyper-aware that it isn't a guarantee. In Louis' mind, there's a storm swaying his walls and towers ever so slightly, and his guards have their fingers on their triggers, but their fingers tremble and their eyes blink a bit too hard. He sits within those walls on a chair with a bow and arrow hoisted up at whatever and whoever comes through those bricks. He knows just as good as anyone who's ever known about his feelings that they'll only come on stronger once Harry gets between his legs, but if he keeps them under lock and key, then nobody gets hurt. Nobody but him, anyway. Harry doesn't have to know - that makes this more fun.

Harry nods minutely and extends a hand. "I promise. No strings, just like I clarified. Do we have a deal then?"

Louis grins and takes his hand, shaking it once and squeezing. "We have a deal." Excitement and anticipation thrums through his veins and sets fire to the skin of his limbs of seeing this new side of Harry, of expecting spontaneity and scorching charm from him like never before. As much as he'd like to have Harry expose himself and bare himself open in more ways than one, this is as nice as it'll get, and he'll gladly take it.

He releases his hand and sinks himself into his thoughts, pondering on if Harry will ever kiss him - he will, inevitably because in their position for this case, it's nearly required for them to be caught kissing by someone to ward off any suspicions of phoniness, but he thinks about it for far longer than he should. His lips felt good enough on the skin of his neck, soft and nipping, teasing and gentle, all with just the right amount of saliva. He thinks about how he might take up his lips between his own, how he might meet his mouth depending on whatever situation they find themselves in when he wills himself to do it. Louis doesn't fancy the idea of kissing him on an airplane first, but he wonders. Oh, he wonders.

"Well, then. I'm going to catch some sleep since there's not much to do strapped into a seat for seven hours or so," Louis mumbles, sinking into his seat and coming to the conclusion that slumber is his best and only option to get his mind to stop racing.

"You're going to sleep for seven hours and a half in the middle of the day? Why don't you stay up, take some polaroids, paint a bit -?"

"I don't do that in front of anyone else but myself. Painting, I mean. I don't do that in front of anyone." _Nobody deserves to see me when I'm like that_ , is what he really wants to say, but he just slumps further into his seat, leaning his face into his hand and letting his eyes wander out the window. The flight attendant's voice comes over the scratchy intercom, droning an endless list of rules and recommendations until the ground moves rapidly before his eyes, white rectangles getting smaller and smaller until his breathing is heavy in his throat, eyelids drooping.

Harry gazes at him a while, nearly startling himself with the knowledge that he can stare openly all he likes because it makes him look love struck to everyone else around him. He reaches out and flicks a stray strand of hair from his forehead, a bit fascinated by how he submits to slumber so easily and finding it funny how he forgot about their task at hand. Slightly aware that no one is looking at them, but he needs an excuse to be doing this.

He finds himself slipping into the bathroom and locking it, pulling his phone from his pocket and waiting for an unlisted number's call to pop up on his screen, hands shaking and palms sweating, feeling so nervous and on edge that it makes him want to sedate himself. His phone starts to vibrate in his hand, and he answers it with bated breaths. "Hello?"

A voice sighs and coughs on the other line, and it comes through crackly and sharp. "Well," the deep voice murmurs, sounding occupied with whatever, "anything new about him?"

Harry wipes his free palm on his thigh, leaning against the wall and trying to get as much space and air in the room as possible. "No. Well, nothing useful."

The voice laughs, swift and obnoxious and teasing in a way that tempts Harry to reach through the line and throttle them. "Harry, we go through this every other month. It may not seem useful to _you_ , but every bit of information counts."

Harry pushes his lower lip into his mouth to bite between his teeth before he drops it. "He paints and draws and takes photographs - you know, professional ones and polaroids. Has a cat. Has a plethora of books - it's like a library right there in his apartment." He stops there because for the first time since he was thrown into this mess, he doesn't want to tell them anymore. He pauses and clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "I don't get this. What's the point of having someone else collect information on someone else for three years straight if all you want is to kill him? What is this doing for you?"

There's a hum and stuttered exhale. "Do you ever just meet someone and then realize that they're the light and love of your entire life? You know, it just hits you, like _yeah, this person is gonna be the one I want for the rest of my life._ I knew him for years, longer than anyone else has, and he left me behind here and knew that I had no one else to turn to but myself. Am I so insignificant? Unimportant? So easy to abandon? He needs to learn a lesson, and I'm more than willing to be the one to teach it to him. Just a little more time. I need more time."

Harry has been gripping the hem of his shirt so tight that he can barely uncurl his fingers from it. "Okay," he breathes and promptly hangs up, shoving his phone back into his pocket with his hands trembling still. Three entire years of doing this, of prying information about a man he tried his hardest to keep away from, for some nameless and faceless person over a phone line who had more connections than he could ever guess the number of, and he hadn't thought to question his intentions before. It was a part of his job - you don't ask questions, you just do it.

He returns back to his seat with a cold sweat running along his spine, causing Louis to stir and turn, shifting until he's got his head pillowed on his shoulder. His nose twitches as his arm comes to curl around Harry's, sighing. Harry sits stock still, shoulders tense with no reason logical to himself whatsoever, considering the fact that he'd been kissing his neck for ages before they boarded the plane, but this feels more intimate and open, a lot less easier to play off. Still, he brings his free hand up to pat his cheek, letting his shoulders slump and uncoil while he faces forward, Louis' light scent filling his nose. He traces the patterns, zigzags and polka dots, and dozes.

*

It's midnight by the time the plane lands, and an hour more when they make it to a porcelain building at the corner of a long, bustling street, towering tall above both of them, balconies protruding from the side of the building with potted plants surrounding on and sun umbrellas surrounding the others, little lawn chairs and tables sitting quaint and quiet. Louis steps out of their taxi, rubbing his eye and yawning as he peers up at it. "This is it?"

Harry opens the trunk and leans his body to the side of the car to catch Louis' attention with a low whistle. "I could use a bit of help -"

"I've a name, too, you know. I'm not a dog," Louis murmurs as he approaches, digging his fingers into his ribs with a wavering grin. He leans down and heaves his own luggage up, leaving the box of bike parts in there for Harry to deal with. He hates flights for the jet lag it gives him, wishing he could lie down and actually go to sleep instead of this relentless thrumming of nerve endings beneath his skin, the need to shuffle and shift and move, his eyes red and watery but wide and darting.

Harry transports the rest of the luggage onto the sidewalk and the box with relative ease, coming around to pay the driver before parting with him. Louis glances at him, city lights accenting his features, the cut of his cheek bones and the indent of his dimple from his impish grin. "You sure you can handle all that when we go in? I'm fairly certain the apartment floor we'll reside on is quite long, from what Liam's told me."

"Of course I can handle it - I'm the big, strong alpha, aren't I?" He steps forward once then steps back again, expression inquiring. "Wait, when did you talk to Liam?"

Louis shrugs a shoulder, moving his hand from his luggage for just a moment, to rub at his shoulder. "I didn't ring him, but I messaged him while you were sleeping and I'd woken up. He took refuge here during a few cases in the area. Key's in the little plant pot next to the door." He elongates the handle to his suitcase and props it up on its wheels, walking through the entrance of the building, imprinted with dark, floral designs above the glass doors, and Harry follows, cheeks flushing a bit from the exertion of carrying four out of six of their bags heavy with clothing and bike parts.

They cross the threshold, honey ceiling lights splashing over their faces as they enter the lobby, and it looks wider from the inside than it does outside. Louis turns to the person behind the lobby counter and offers them a grin to ease their tense features, their eyes looking at them from the side. He approaches the counter and opens his mouth to speak and to sway but halts and turns back to Harry, then steps back and flutters his eyelashes at him. He tilts his head to the counter, tapping his finger on the clipboard.

Harry blinks slowly before realization washes over him. "Oh," he exclaims on a breath, dropping their bags and scrambling to lean his elbow on the counter. "I'm sure you've gotten an email of some sort from the person who resides in.... What was the apartment number, sweetheart? My brain is blowing a bit of a fuse, I apologize."

"3204, darling," Louis murmurs, lifting his hand and sliding it over his bicep, squeezing to get him to flush. He places the tip of his chin on his shoulder, rising on his tip toes to do so as he gazes at his profile, sickeningly forlorn for their audience if it makes them move faster to get the key card to the gated elevator. Harry meets his eyes, breaths puffing over his lips. Louis' eyes twinkle in a way that tells him _don't think I've forgotten about our game - I'm here to win._

As fast as lightning and as ground-breaking as thunder, Louis tilts his head, elevating himself on his toes and gripping his bicep for more leverage as he lands a chaste kiss on his mouth. Harry is too far in shock to react properly and to react fast enough before Louis is leaning back down to his own level, but he doesn't release his bicep, turning his head to face forward as he grins with his lips closed and tingling. He wants to play it off like he's fine, like one touch of their mouths meeting didn't shake him to his very core and make his knees quiver and thighs tense, but Harry can see it in the color of his cheeks, pink as mid-summer roses.

Harry nods, grinning, too, when the key card is slapped on the counter. He leans forward to slide it off into his hands with a tip of his head. "Thank you for your services. Promise we won't make too much noise, if you're expecting complaints." He bends his knees to collect their luggage the moment Louis release his arm, leading the way to the elevator with wide strides as Louis scurries to keep his pace, scowling at the back of his neck for it. They stand side by side, Louis' hands clasped behind himself and Harry's hands clasped in front after he swipes the card through the slot and presses the floor number, grinning smugly at the person behind the desk, who's cheeks have gone red noticeable above their dark skin, as the elevator lifts.

Silence falls over them like a blanket, but the tension and anticipation is thick enough to cut through with the tip of an arrow and the blade of a dagger. Louis is jittery, fingers moving restlessly because he wants to kiss Harry again, right now, more than anything, and he has no idea what's stopping him from doing just that, except for the fact that they've made it to their floor, and it might take a few minutes to find their flat before he can kiss him again. He frowns a bit and steps out with a muffled sigh and -

And he's nearly knocked off of his feet with the amount of force Harry puts into charging into him, cupping his jaw into his hands to tilt his head up and make their mouths meet again, something more open, more wet, more heated. It lasts more than a dry second - it lasts for what feels like years, makes him feel like he's standing hip-deep in rain water because his lower half feels heavy and shaky. He grasps at Harry's waist before letting his hands glide up over his back to get closer until there isn't one breath of life between them, bodies pressed together and the seams of their jeans catching when Harry slides one between his thighs. Louis can feel wetness beginning to spread between his arse cheeks, and he wonders vaguely if Harry can smell him, wonders if it's enough to set him off to go farther.

Harry pulls away for air, their breaths puffing into each other's mouths, and Louis recognizes their current position as one he thought they'd only be in within his carnal dreams. His hands hooked over Harry's broad shoulders, Harry's thigh between his own two, huffing chests pressed together with only flimsy fabric to prevent their skin from touching. Harry's tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and the very tip of it touches Louis'. Louis shudders shamelessly, vying to get closer to him, to regain their lip contact because his are beginning to feel cold.

Harry grins a bit, leaning down to place another languid kiss before parting again, stepping out of his space. "We should find the flat, shouldn't we."

Louis agrees, nodding and pressing off from the wall he hadn't realized Harry pushed him against. "Right. We should." He wrinkles his nose as he pulls at his jeans, his semi pushing a bit against his zipper while his underwear sticks to his arse crack. He feels like he's sixteen all over again, getting riled up just from kissing in a desolate hallway. He gives himself a moment to trust that his balance is fine before tending to their dropped bags, following Harry beneath the dim ceiling lights.

As the lights cast halos and shadows over their heads, Louis finds his eyes glued to the back of Harry's, finds himself not wanting to be any farther than five feet away from him, finds himself realizing that he's giving himself away and entirely, and finds himself not caring as long as Harry gets his hands back on him, as long as their skin gets to touch for however long they have.

They stop in front of the flat door, a small potted plant beside the door frame, and Louis wonders vaguely how it hasn't been taken up yet by some curious random, but it quickly becomes the least of his concerns when Harry is pushing his fingers through the dirt around the blooming stem and his hand emerges with a silver key in his calloused palm. His hand tremors ever so slightly as he lets the key glide up to the tips of his fingers to grip and slip into the key hole.

They trudge inside, breaths still and movements as silent as their limbs will allow. The room is dark, save for the light that glows over the bar in the left corner of the common room and the moon that illuminates bright through patio doors whose curtains are pushed to the side. The flat is wide and spacious, with an upper level and stairs leading up to a little loft. A small dining room beneath the loft and a kitchen elsewhere down a hallway.

Louis' throat is dry to the point where he doesn't really want to try to speak, but he goes against his own advice as per usual. "'S nice, isn't it? Really nice." He releases his luggage and shuts the door with his palms and back flat against it, hyper-aware that they're about to start something that he's afraid they won't be able to stop. Like lighting a bonfire even though you see a trail of gasoline leading to the sea right beside it.

Harry drops his luggage, too, stands there to examine how the moonlight makes the floorboards glow and glisten, and almost wants to laugh at how typical it is of Liam to clean the place spotless. "It is. Lucky, we are." His voice drops off into something lighter, distracted and distant with thought.

Louis opens his mouth. _I wanna talk to you._ "I wanna touch you." His breath catches in his throat, curling up to form a lump as he swallows and pushes himself against the door like he might sink into it and become one with the building because that way, Harry would have to find a new partner. He keeps talking, for whatever reason, because it's like word vomit. It's all word vomit. "And I wanna kiss you, too." _This is so stupid. Christ, this is so stupid._ "Can we, like -?"

Harry turns and walks until he's standing directly in front of him, and here, their height difference becomes all the more evidence. Louis can feel slick steadily leaking between his cheeks as his face flushes, and he tilts his head up when Harry leans down and their mouths touch, lips brushing. Their breaths quicken and it's only been a day and some hours and this is mad, how they've ended up here. Absolutely mad -

"Not tonight." Louis passionately curses his mouth for speaking without his permission and his brain for not stopping him effectively; he fervidly thanks his mouth for speaking and his brain for knowing better. _It's better this way for now. I'm about to burst in my jeans right this second, but it's better this way._ "I want all of that, but not tonight."

Harry breathes in heavily through his nose, slanting his head back far enough for Louis to be able to study the curve of the bone beneath his chin. " _Jesus_ Christ, you smell so good. Fuck. Okay. Not tonight." He steps out of his space again and clears his throat, adverting his eyes. "We're sharing the loft, still?"

Louis nods, his heart thrashing wildly in his chest like it just might find its way out somehow, through veins and bones and skin and his firm willpower. "Yeah," he breathes. "Uh. There are two bathrooms, so...."

"Yeah." And he's gone, gathering their bags again, a silent silhouette moving quickly up the steps.

Louis sighs and slumps against the door, hands relaxing as the air conditioner starts and showers down coolness from the vents. He faintly becomes more of aware of his physical state, sweat collecting along the nape of his neck and his underwear clinging to his arse, cock straining against his jeans and face stained heavy with pink. He can still feel the brush of Harry's lips stinging his mouth, can still inhale his thick, intoxicating scent, and he finds himself dropping to his knees to find a pair of underwear and a loose pajama tee before rushing down the hallway in discovery of a bathroom because the heat between his legs is starting to become unbearable.

He finds one, tolerable in its medium size as long as he can get his fingers in himself as soon as possible. He shuts the door behind him with more force than he means to, hands trembling like the ground does when thunder rumbles throughout thickening clouds as he undoes his buttons far enough for him to pinch the hem between two fingers and flip the thing over his head and onto the floor. He brushes against the outline of his cock when he moves to unbutton his jeans, and sharp hisses exit from between the spaces of his teeth, the ache and throb thrumming through his pelvis. He tears his underwear and jeans down his legs at once, sighing shakily when cool air hits his wet skin.

He stumbles to bend over the rim of the tub, fiddling with the knobs until water flows through the shower head, and it's then that he realizes how desperate he is for release when he bends over and feels his own exposure and slick running between his thighs and down his taint. He doesn't wait any longer to step under the shower head and tug the curtain closed, facing the wall away from the source of the spray and placing one hand on it as the other reaches behind him, fingertips sneaking between his arse cheeks until they bump against the outline of his hole. More slick is produced at the minor touch, brushing against his fingers gently.

His bottom lip finds its place between his teeth, face pinking as he tenses two fingers beside one another and slips them in, enveloping them in his smooth, wet heat. His arm shakes and trembles violently where it hoists him up because he's nearly ready to plant his face against the wall, grateful for the tension that unwinds in the knobs of his spine and the dimples of his back. It's still not enough, though; his prostate is just there, just along the surface of his fingertips where he can hardly reach it at this angle. He spreads his legs farther and shifts his shoulders, and that does the trick, his fingers bumping harshly into his prostate just once, the pressure not letting up.

His knees buckle as his mouth disobeys him and discharges a whine straight from the pit of his throat as he comes, his release spreading and spilling all over his thighs, his stomach, and the floor between his feet. He allows himself to collapse against the wall and also allows himself to feel a bit pathetic for not having needed to get past two fingers or touch himself to come as intensely as he just had. Steam settles over his skin and into his pores, and he collects himself, standing to his full form and pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. He tells himself that this is the reason why his decision was wise, that his rejection was warranted because he surely would've embarrassed himself for being ready to go so quickly, that his denial to himself of proper penetration and release was reasonable.

He scrubs himself clean of the mess he's made between and on his thighs and over his stomach, shuts off the shower and shoves the shower curtain to the side, stepping out and -

And there Harry is, standing the doorway with his eyebrows raised to his hairline and his mouth propped open wide enough to fit a fist inside - his eyes are about the size of a small planet, and all Louis can do is stand there with his foot resting on the rim of the tub and his hand reaching for a towel hanging on the wall, his softening dick resting against his thigh.

"Oh my _God_ ," Louis is unsure of who says it, but he snatches up a towel and wraps it around his waist as quick as Harry makes his exit, stumbling back past the doorway and shutting the door. Louis hears him through it - "Jesus _Christ_ ," and on he goes, the words echoing and fading farther down the hallway.

Regardless of how quickly he tries to walk away, his pungent smell strikes his nostrils and makes his knees wobble and knock into each other. He seats himself on the toilet top and cups his heated face, vehemently willing himself to relax because his heart is pounding hard enough to rattle his entire body. _This isn't nearly as fun as I meant for it to be._

The thought startles him and makes him snap his head up from his hands; the knowledge that it's been far too easy to forget that this is supposed to be a game, that the purpose of any of this is to provide relief. He could walk out there in nothing but his own skin like an offering, and they could start what he stopped at the doorway right then and there. His internal conflict is so unbearable and frustrating that he sits on the toilet in the towel that falls loose around his hips for another ten minutes to settle with the decision that they shouldn't start anything quite yet.

He takes longer than he needs to getting dressed and brushing his teeth to turn in for the night, residual shock and nervousness still running over his skin like a blanket of fog. There's humor in the way he's afraid to face his partner due to him seeing him naked and probably hearing him moan - which was bound to happen either way - but shows no fear in facing the monsters in human skin, isn't afraid of the criminals that know more than a thousand ways to kill him with a few scant items like paper clips and manila folders. He fusses with his hair to stall, flicks the light switch off, and walks out of the bathroom.

The door across from him is closed, dandelion light filtering in a thin strip beneath it, softened by the steam that rolls onto the floorboards in front of it. Harry's scent is still sharp and accented in the air, even more so than before, and Louis clenches his jaw, covering his nose as he trots upstairs and begins to unpack his things. His mind wanders, of course, to the defined lines of Harry's abdomen and chest and the chiseled features of his jaw and the hollows of his eyes, and he sits back on his heels in front an open dresser drawer, giving himself a moment or two to think about how nice a walk through the park down the street would be. _Yeah_ , he ponders, pulling out a pair of sweats and pulling them up his mildly trembling legs. _That'd be real nice._

And he also figures that if Harry doesn't see him yet tonight, then he won't have to see him until tomorrow either. He shoves his feet in his converse, foregoing the socks he doesn't wear often to begin with, and finds a small note pad and a pen sitting on the table beside the couch. He scribbles a message down, stomach rolling with a pinch of arousal, and shoves his phone and the key card down his pocket as he exits.

_gone for a walk in the park. i've got my phone on me, so ring me if i'm needed. x_

*

Harry's hand wraps tight around the ever-swelling base of his cock, heated water running streams down over his wide shoulders and back, between the valleys of his abs and belly button, as he stares down at it with an inkling of betrayal behind his eyes. He's at the very edge of everything, teetering on the cusp of maintaining self-control and losing it all at once. Louis's ardent scent still roams somehow, even under this spray of heat.

His cock throbs where he holds it, and he grits his teeth. Louis embodies everything he finds attractive, whether he's ready to completely admit it or not - the obscene curve of his back, the delicate cuts and curves and angles of his face, the gentle slope of his thighs curving into his calves - his general smallness and the burst of light he holds in his chest, harboring and releasing it for anyone who's willing to absorb it and drink it in.

(He's not sure he can keep up with him, is all. Louis is a body of humming sunlight and unbridled energy, despite his unwillingness to sit still and do paper work in the bullpen. He's loud and talks a lot and - and does all of these things that Harry isn't quite sure he likes. He won't allow himself to succumb to the fact that it isn't that he's unsure about liking all those things - it's about having to give all of his secrets away and about having to trust anyone else but himself on an intimate level. But it's fine because it won't even go that far. A game is all this is.)

He's leaking endlessly already and ready to pop his knot right there in his hand, just from thinking about Louis, and he prays that he won't be this desperate when he's finally between Louis' naked thighs. And it's with this thought that he pulls his foreskin back from his flushed cock head and comes, knot thickening and bursting and throbbing beneath his palm as wetness drips over the ferns tattooed on his hips to his thighs. He growls between tightened teeth, his head tipping back and letting water spill over his face as he fists himself through it because it seems to last forever. It doesn't quite hit him that Louis is the reason why he comes that hard for that long, and if it does, then he washes the thought away, scrapes his fingertips into his scalp roughly enough to make him ignore it when he washes his hair.

He takes his time getting out of the bathroom, doing everything he can to prolong facing the inevitable until he tugs on his underwear only and walks out. He feels foolish for expecting Louis to be standing in front of him and feels even more foolish for being nervous. He'll see Louis naked again, sooner than later, but he'd been invading his privacy and space for a mere bottle of body wash he easily found elsewhere. He's compelled to apologize to Louis in a way he never has before about anything. _And to be fair, I would need to, anyway_ , he thinks wandering down the hallway and into the common room, rubbing the edge of the towel that sits on his shoulders behind his ear. _Shouldn't have walked in at all without his say -_

His eyes catch on something white sticking on the door over the eye hole, moonlight beams just barely catching it. He approaches it and flicks a light switch, three lamps glowing all at once as he removes the note and frowns down at it. He doesn't much like the idea of leaving Louis to go places on his own while on the job unarmed, regardless of if this is their first case together. They're meant to protect each other and watch each other's backs, first and foremost. (And he's meant to keep him alive for the stranger over the phone.)

He finds himself at the gates of park in the cerulean gloom of the night, fog and mist prevailing the weather and making his skin thicken with sweat and moisture. The cement crunches beneath his boots as he strolls down the pathway, and he wonders how he expects to find Louis so easily in this labyrinth of trees and paths among grass blades drenched with dew and lost clothing and blankets abandoned in the thick of tree roots. He looks to his left and starts walking there, digging his phone out of his pocket to phone Louis, who picks up after the first two rings.

"What do you need?" It's not a particularly nice greeting and doesn't hold a particularly welcoming tone, but Harry understands the sudden attitude shift.

 _To find you_ sounds too blunt, too honest, and means too much, so Harry opts for another set of words to say. "I don't want to leave you alone." _That's not much better -_ "Like! I don't want you to be by yourself, I mean. We're supposed to look out for each other right now, that's our job. I came to look for you and, uh, apologize for the bathroom incident."

Louis is silent, only the subtle puffs of his breathing are audible before he sighs. "Yeah, it's - whatever, really. I just wasn't expecting you to come in, was all. It wasn't like you weren't ever going to see me naked, anyway -"

"Yeah, but I walked in without your permission, and I suppose I wasn't thinking properly, but I invaded your privacy and space. No excuses. I'm sorry, really." It feels so out of focus and out of place, sounding this pitiful and sincere towards Louis. He guesses that he's catapulted himself into an odd situation with no caution or preparation, and he's only got himself to blame. He flushes a bit.

"Ease up, love," a tinny voice murmurs behind him, and Harry can hear the grin in his tone before he even turns to face him. The street lights are absolutely awful, pale and sapphire under the moon's fullness and gentle in the mist, and Louis looks marvelous this way, with his head tilted to the side and his lips tilted in a way that Harry can only register as comfort and certainty. His eyes crinkle as his grin spreads, and Harry's shoulders slump. _This is unfair. This is absolutely, so unfair._ "I haven't seen you so - _lacking_ of your composition, Styles. A big bad wolf like you all flustered over making a mistake," he chuckles, reaching out to pinch the tip of his nose. Then he extends his hand, his right one. "Fancy a late night walk, then? We're already here, and we won't be able to fall asleep for hours."

Harry looks a bit stunned - by the offer to walk with him and hold his hand and by the fact that he _did_ lose his composition, that he _was_ flustered over making a mistake. He clears his throat and blinks with a nod, sliding his palm up against his and linking their fingers, still so thrown by the fact that his hands are much bigger. They take a step forward together and set a steady pace. Fifteen minutes go by before Harry is asking, "Is walking all we're gonna do?"

Louis' steps falter, and he blinks harder than he had before, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "No? We could talk, if you want."

Harry tugs on Louis' hand and halts, stepping in front of him and close enough to where their chests touch and their bodies press together. His hands come to the sides of his neck, eyes glittering and teeth idly biting at his own lips. He lifts an eyebrow. "Talk?"

Their lips collide, and it's something a hurricane withering back into the sea, winds dying down from howling pleas to hushed murmurs of gratitude. The desperation is still there, the need is still there, but it feels much less persistent and demanding, like a bruise fading into a dull ache. Louis opens his mouth to welcome Harry's tongue just as Harry does, and their kisses are slow and thorough, smacking lips and wet tongues making noises that slip between tree branches. Louis' arms find a place around Harry's waist, and his hands slide up his back to hook onto his shoulders that way again, but he doesn't grip, doesn't press his fingers in. He just holds and feels, fingertips tingling against the fabric of Harry's jacket. The tugging feeling in his chest is unbearable and wicked, his thoughts twisting into thoughts like _There's a time I won't get to kiss him this way anymore_ and _I'd be so thankful if I never needed air to breathe so that I could do this for however long my eternity lasts._

Louis presses closer, desperate to make himself understand that whatever feelings he catches will only further his internal agony. He was able to keep it at bay, at least, when they couldn't stand each other, and all in the span of a couple of days, they're standing here, latching onto each other like they'll never get tired of being in each other's space. Every time they touch plunges into his chest like the sharpest blade, and he likes how it hurts and likes how it settles and spreads over him, blood slipping over his skin and soaking his shirt. His teeth sink into Harry's lower lip before he comes up for air, their lips parting with a wet sound as he breathes and puffs. _Feels a lot like sixteen._

Harry's hand adjusts itself to cup his jaw, his thumb caressing his bottom lip. "Your lips are all bruised," he mumbles, sounding like he can't quite get enough air in his lungs to breathe properly even though he's really just needy for Louis' mouth.

Louis nods, moving his hand to the nape of his neck to let his fingers tangle with his hair and pull a bit; Harry shudders, and Louis smiles a bit. "I know. I feel it," he replies, leaning up to kiss him again, full and chaste compared to how they've been kissing all night. And his breath catches because he's been kissing Harry _all night_. He pulls back, letting his fingertips scrap along the curve of the taller man's neck. "Let's head back, though. I'm tired now."

They tread the barren streets with tired feet and heavy eyelids, hands clumsily gripping each other along the way, murmuring senseless things and laughing at those senseless things with the air between them repeating a mantra - _Things might be okay now._ And when they stumble into bed and curl around each other, it feels right - being able to say things between them might be okay now feels plausible.

*

Louis wakes up the next morning with a flick to his forehead, sunlight bursting bright behind his eyelids as his brain registers the time of day. He wrinkles his nose, moving his hand to rub the faintly aching spot and realizing that he'd had his arms wrapped around something warm. He tilts his head up and squints, finding Harry squinting down at him as well. "Rise and shine, sweetheart."

Louis jabs him in the ribs and detaches himself, rolling away from him and retreating beneath the duvet. "Oi, fuck off. That's no way to wake me up. Try again and wake me up nicely."

Harry sighs and huffs and hisses before he reclines and shifts to fit his body up against Louis', peppering kisses along the cut of his shoulder blades and the dip of the nape of his neck. He slides his cock between Louis' cheeks in the least subtle way, grinning against his skin. "Is this nice enough for you?"

Louis' face floods with color and he rolls his eyes. _Last night gave him a thick stroke of confidence, I'm guessing._ He presses back, equally subtle, and squeezes himself around him in the best way possible. "That's more like it," he murmurs, and then he's zipping off the bed with the duvet curled around his slender shoulders. He turns to him, half-smiling, half-smirking. "Not quite nice enough, but you'll learn. Best way to wake me up is with a cuppa, I'll tell you what."

Harry presses his face into a pillow so only half of his face is visible, stray strands of curls falling onto his sharp cheek as he grins, and Louis can see his eyes sparkling, outshining heavy sunbeams leaking through the small window pane. "Duly noted. Today's the day, Tomlinson. You up for it?"

Louis turns, slipping a hand out from the duvet and parting the curtains to find people bustling about on the cobblestone, murmuring on their phones or walking their dogs or riding their lives. Living their regular lives and embracing their regular miracles. He narrows his eyes, bringing his fingers up to pinch his lower lip. _We've not got a choice as it is but -_ "I'm up for it."


	3. sharp tongues and sharper knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sewer travels and empty pill bottles. And fun with knives and bullet shells. And an excessive amount of public foreplay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god yes i know i'm trash for having waited a year to pay this fic any mind again. biggest apologies to everybody who subscribed for it in anticipation for the next chapter especially when it never came. i've no guarantees that i will be consistent again with updating because i have a huge writing project that i've been working on for a long while. this fic will end eventually, though; i still have much in store!!
> 
> my current twitter is kaiandsehun and my current tumblr is soundingboards for those of you who have an inquiries or would like to chat <3

It occurs to Louis in the passenger seat of a rented car that he hadn't woken up at 5:16 that morning, that he hadn't had nightmares of blood and bruises, that he hadn't jumped out of bed immediately looking for his weapon of choice. His eyes feel a bit too heavy for his face from having them closed for so long and from how well-rested he feels, and he caresses the tips of his fingers beneath them, blinking rapidly and sort of praying that this won't weave itself into his normal pattern.

The sun spills its clandestine light behind thick clouds, sharp beams casting themselves on porcelain buildings and window panes with each passing cloud, humid air radiating throughout the car and making Louis sweat beneath his collar. He runs a hand over his locks, gone wavy and flat from bed sheets and pillows and Harry's wandering hands, and angles his face to squint at Harry. "It would make a bad impression, I think, if we showed up with sweat stains under our pits. So, like, we could prevent that if you put the key in the ignition and turned the air conditioning on. Just a suggestion. Just an idea."

Harry is far too busy flicking his thumb over the screen of his phone and twisting strands of his hair around his fingers to pay Louis any mind, eyebrows narrowed, so Louis takes it upon himself to snatch the keys out of his lap and simultaneously pinch his exposed nipples (he's wearing one of those shirts again - where he doesn't seem to know how to put the button through the little hole on the other end for three of them). He does it to grab his attention, really, because it'd be doing him quite a disservice to pay attention to anything else when he's sitting right there. _Especially when I've already agreed to spreading my legs for you_ , he thinks, swiftly reaching over to pinch at his other nipple.

Harry catches him by his wrist and smacks his other prodding hand away, eyes locking into Louis' wide-eyed gaze long enough for his hard face to soften. He presses Louis' wrist to his own chest and puts the other in his lap. "Behave. We've learned to keep out hands to ourselves in pre-school, haven't we?"

Louis grins, lifting his hand to smooth his palm over the curve between his neck and shoulder, his favorite place on Harry so far. "Sure we have. But you already know I'm not one to follow rules, lovie. I break them all the time, I reckon."

"Yes, you attempt at being rebellious and manage to nearly get yourself killed every time," Harry hums, taking Louis' hand and pressing a wet kiss into his palm to make the other man wrinkle his nose and pull his hand back.

Louis nods modestly, with his head tilted to the sky and his eyebrows lifted to make himself look particularly pompous. "Yes, yes, but I do it all with meaning, with vigor, with determination, with - with -"

Harry leans over the arm rest they share, a rush of air gathering past them with how swiftly he moves, the ends of his hair feathering Louis' cheeks as he presses a kiss to Louis' mouth with all the gentleness one would pet a cat. His fingers are around his wrist again, lips parting and mouth opening and if Louis mirrors him, the butterflies in his stomach will escape and maybe they can share the same feeling that way. Louis opens his mouth for him and presses on, sucking up the warmth Harry pours into him until Harry pulls back and he goes cold completely with his mouth wet and bruised enough for his lips to throb.

Harry furrows his brows. "Perhaps we should practice with keeping you quiet. You're always talking, it seems, even in your sleep...."

Louis is still so delightedly dazed, his gaze trapped on the way Harry's mouth glistens, Harry's scent becoming thicker and thicker in his nostrils with each passing second, and he nods along to the heavy drone of his voice. He agrees to everything, agrees to it all. "Yes, yes, yes...."

Then the string is snapped, and Harry pulls himself from Louis' solar orbit with his back pressed to his seat like it would be if the seat was a wall for an instant. He could say that he hadn't meant it that way, not in the sexual notion, but his lips still burn and his mind still burns and has been burning since last night from the lobby and the hallway and against the door in the flat and just a moment ago. He'd be a liar, even more so than he already is. He turns the key in the ignition and goes through the regular motions of driving a car.

It's nice, driving, because _this_ is familiar; he knows how to do this here, turn the steering wheel left to go left and turn it right to go right. Common knowledge, but what does he do about the man sitting in the seat beside him, staring at him with hot stars in his eyes, looking a black hole that wants to devour him entirely and maybe never spit him back out until he's ready? Harry leans forward over the steering wheel to conceal his blooming flush as it spreads over him like sun, over his face to his chest to his ears...

Louis is silent during the rest of the car ride, and it's a perpetual silence - he's motionless and doesn't shift and doesn't move his head from being tilted to look at Harry's. The silence is perpetual and the heat between them is perpetual and the _scent_ is perpetual. _Good God, what is that smell? It feels like it's choking me -_

The car halts and Louis jerks forward in his seat like a puppet with no one to handle how his strings move. "You didn't take your suppressants." Harry says, and he looks forward all the while, out into the street where they're pulled over.

Louis' swallow is audible among the static rushing in Harry's ears, and he turns to look at him where he's slumped over his knees with his head between them. His voice is muffled as he speaks, and Harry imagines him with his eyes closed. "You'd be right, _Edward_. My, you catch on quickly -"

"We have to go back. I - we can't be on a job with these people if they can _smell_ you and see that you're not mated -"

"Then mate me."

Harry blinks hard behind the logic that if he blinks hard enough, then his eyeballs will roll into their sockets and even farther into his skull. "I can't just _mate you_ when you're not _mine_." His throat is thick with the knowledge of it. He swallows it down. "You're not really mine, and I've yet to claim you in the way I'm bound to claim you, and you still wouldn't be mine, even then. This is just a case, Louis."

"You'll have to mate me anyway, though, wouldn't you? They'll ask questions when we say how long we've been together, and they won't be able to figure it when they don't find me marked. It makes sense, doesn't it, if you would just -"

Harry's hand comes down against the steering wheel and his face is flooded with an angry color. "Knock it _off_! I'm not fucking mating you; come off it!" And that was a bit mean, perhaps, but Louis knows as well as anyone what he's lost, and Harry knows it best, knows of the ache and the guilt and the holes he punched into himself in order to move on. "I will _not_ mate you unless you're mine, and you're not, and you won't be. Do you understand? I'm not mating you. You just have to get a hold of yourself today."

Louis doesn't move and utter a sound for so long that it makes Harry start to worry, so he wraps his hand around the back of his neck and forces him to sit upright. Louis gazes at him, his eyes between being vacant and being alert to listen to him. He arches his neck and sighs, breathing lightly as his eyelids flutter like rose petals in the fall. "Fine. Fine." He drops his head forward again and rests his elbow on his door, lifting his hand to cover his nose and mouth.

Harry's hand slips from his neck to his shoulder, squeezing. Rain drops, small and translucent, collect on his windshield as they sit there with Louis miles away and Harry far too heavily anchored. "Look. If it makes things any better, I won't even make you get out of the car when we meet them, yeah? We'll figure it out."

"What'll make things better is if you get your _hands_ off of me," Louis mumbles, a rasp caught in his throat as he reaches up and removes Harry's hand, shoving him farther to his side. He brings his hand back to his face and inhales sharply, eyes rolling and thighs parting. "Your scent..."

Harry drives to his ability while sticking himself to his side of the car, nearly contemplates opening the windows before recognizing the fact that it might attract some unwanted attention - _or attract other alphas and Louis doesn't need any other alpha_ \- and do nothing but air out the smell in the car. He reaches over and nudges his thigh because the man is half-delirious, looking like he can hardly see through a haze of blind arousal and need. "Reach into that little cabinet there. Go on. Do you hear me?"

"My hearing isn't impaired, Styles; I can hear you just fine," Louis bites with his head tilted back against the seat, his face toward the window and his eyes toward the sky. He swallows thickly and blinks minutely, inhaling shallow breaths through his nostrils. "I can hear you just fine."

"Well, surely you can move?"

"I'm trying not to." He blinks again, sighs again. "It's fine, it's all well. Don't you worry about anything."

Harry about chokes on the thickness of his aroma, sweet and tooth-ache inducing and a bit like the rain in the fall, and he lifts a hand to rub at his cheek and shifts his eyes to check the distance between here and then. It begins to rain more steadily, making the stoplights look like smeared paint on his windshield, and Louis won't stop whimpering and whining, making small noises from the pit of his stomach. Harry would quite like to knock himself out for a while, and it's hell fighting the urge to reach over and stick his hand down his jeans, get him off with just a touch in the low light.

Harry stops the car before a wide facility of porcelain columns and a fountain large enough to scale the building itself, the structure of a feminine person, their hands stretched to the sky and their mouth forming an _'o'_ around the water it spouts, hollow eyes crying, the stump its balanced on spilling a stream of water out into the pool again. Three people cloaked in blackness, dark suits and one tight-fitting dress that falls to a dark knee, stand idly in front of it, marveling at it as their mouths move among each other.

Harry squints and reaches over to sink his fingers into Louis' neck, to which Louis responds with a startled gasp and a hard blink. Harry opens the compartment Louis refused to open earlier, pulling out a spray can with a yellow _'O'_ painted on a deep blue background. "We've arrived. Spray this on you and act natural." He shuffles around in the compartment a while longer and frowns. _Neutralizing spray but no pills. Wonderful, very thought-out._

"Acting natural? My profession," Louis murmurs, promptly spraying himself down in a near daze and hoping that it'll aid in straightening himself out. "But what do we do about my erection?" He chuckles, gripping the can tight in one hand and the hem of his shirt in the other. "Profession, erection. Should I partake in a career as a poet and push this whole thing aside?"

Harry bites back a grin - it's like him to fight his own urges and succeed. "I've got it figured, Louis. Follow my lead, sweetheart."

Louis flushes deeply. It's something he'll never get used to, Harry's voice dripping over him, calling him the nicest things, things he hasn't been called in years by anyone but his mother. He revels in it because it's the nicest he's ever felt in months now and because it's all he can afford to do before this is all over - he'll absorb Harry's words like a sunflower to the sun until winter comes and steals it all away. He stumbles out of the car, legs trembling and unsteady, and Harry is there before he can even ponder his presence, his arm coming round his waist and chest pressed to his shoulder.

"Don't worry about anything, alright? I've got a plan," Harry murmurs, his breath puffing down over his ear and making his cheeks flood with color. If anything, it's certainly helping Louis look his part - a flushing omega, small and yielding, shivering for an alpha's touch. It makes him feel uneasy in a subconscious manner; he's far too busy trying to mold Harry into his side, his aroma weighty, haloing around his head.

The trio turns to them, and Harry takes in their faces, ranging from sharp and angular to round and soft. The one in the dress speaks first, being the one to stand in the middle and being the shortest of the three. "Edward and William? Took you lot long enough." She extends her hand, brushing her sleek hair past her shoulder. "My name is Celeste, to my left is Gentry, and to my right is Blue."

They swap handshakes and introductions, Gentry and his bulky build and firm hand, Blue being a tad shorter and thinner than, and Celeste with her slimness and dark eyes. "Quite the trio," Harry comments and nudges Louis with his shoulder, lifting his hand to squeeze the side of his neck. "Well? Won't you be polite and greet them back, darling?"

Louis blinks rapidly between his shallow breaths and nods erratically. "Yes. Sorry. Hi." And nothing else. His mind is hot and blank, the center of a desert where the sun beams down on him directly; he can hardly think to blink or breathe, only thinking of how Harry's hands would fit on his waist and what his head would look like low between his legs. "Hello," he says, his brain demanding him to offer some variation.

Harry grins and laughs lightly. "He's shy, this one. Quiet at the best of times, right, darling? Strong, quiet type; just wait till you see what he can do."

Celeste smiles, her hands intertwined behind her back, blinking her brown eyes. "I count on it. Now we've got a plan on getting inside, but no plan on getting close enough to our guy to take him out. Any suggestions, contributions? An opportunity to show us what you lot are capable of, actually."

"Easy." Harry detaches himself from Louis' side, and Louis has all of three seconds to register the sudden burst of motion as he shoves him into the fountain. He stumbles over the rim and collapses face first into the water, head dipping beneath the surface long enough for him to return to his senses, his thought-processes sharpening as he comes up for air and turns, eyes narrowing.

"Don't worry, baby," Harry replies, kneeling and leaning over the sharp rim of the fountain with an outstretched hand. Louis glares and Harry grits his teeth, stretching his hand out. "Told you I had a plan, hadn't I? We walk up to the door and say you've fallen in the fountain, absolutely sloshed -"

"And our host takes you to a room to get you dried up again. That's actually a sound plan - the host likes your type," Gentry tells him, tipping his head towards Louis with a hand in one pocket and the other scratching his bicep, his suit sleeve straining over it. "You can do it then?"

"Absolutely," Louis fires back, taking Harry's offered hand as much as he wants to reject it and glower, eyelashes heavy with water drops as he gazes at him with a deep stare. His legs are weighted down by his wet pants legs, clothes clinging to his limbs, and he shivers as he steps out. "You're to blame if I don't make it back out," he mumbles, face flushing as he sits on his bum, heat seeping out between his cheeks still. "I'll haunt you forever."

Harry leans down and hooks an arm around his waist to have him stand, his suit soaked with his body against his own. He pulls him closer still and presses his lips to the wet crown of his head. "Nonsense, love. You'll make it out fine; I've seen you in action before, angel."

Blue makes gagging noises behind them. "First ten minutes meeting you both, and you're already being disgustingly in love with each other -"

Celeste's huffy breath and sigh sound out behind them. "Blue -"

"What is it? It's rough being single when you're vying for that much attention." He pauses, his attention shifting. "How long have you been together for? How'd you both meet? Seem like an unlikely pair."

Louis snorts and disguises the sound as a sniff, lifting his cold hand to brush at his nose as he grins. Harry pinches his side. "Two years and six months. Our anniversary was, unfortunately, interrupted because we heard you lot were in need of some fill-ins. My William was so insistent on coming here, and I can't deny my angel when he wants something. Isn't that right, angel?"

Louis slides his hand over his chest and pulls sharply at his nipple, in which he flinches back with a hiss and a smirk. "You aren't ever wrong, love."

The trio chuckle at their antics and for a while, Harry can hear their murmurs of quiet conversation, picturing all of their heads ducked together, and he moves to mimic his thoughts. He leans his head toward Louis to speak, and Louis comes to easily. "Turned out better than you thought it would, didn't it?"

"Sure thing, love. I'm holding onto my word, though, about haunting you forever," Louis replies, tossing an arm around his neck. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

. . .

The host is broad and tall and towering, with his sleeves rolled up around his forearms and his blazer and dress shirt unbuttoned down to where the line between his pecs show. His hair is dark and peppered lightly with silver hairs, his smile sharp and wide, and he looks awfully, intimidatingly good. Harry is more than a tad bit blustered by his presence, and Louis even more so, but he lets his knees fall out beneath him and lets his eyes droop low enough for the thing to pull off.

The host is kind and gentle and introduces himself all polite even though Louis knows the man can smell him, and Louis almost doesn't want to kill him, almost wants to figure out why he'd need to when the man is this pleasant, but everything shifts when they reach his room. He - _Beckett_ , he calls himself - leans over his shoulder and bites at his ear, hands dropping from his waist to his arse. Louis jumps about a mile high in the air, darting forward and holding onto his arse like he might've hidden something there, feeling alarmed and provoked.

Beckett inclines his head, pouting and making a put-out noise. "Oh, love, you didn't - had you really believed I wouldn't do anything about that little scent of yours? I could smell you from the outside, love; no splash of water could wash that smell away."

Louis tenses as Beckett steps forward, fingers splaying out at his sides, and Beckett laughs and laughs at his motions, and Louis is quite finished, _quite finished_ , with feeling like a joke. "What do you plan to do? What was your line of thinking, baiting me here against my will?"

"Hmm?" Beckett's hands dart out at his sides, and he successfully pulls at the belt strapped around his torso enough to shake it loose and have it fall to the floor with a silent _thump_ ; all of his knives glisten in the clean light from the nightstand lamps, digging into the carpet where his face goes next, his cheek suddenly pressing into the fabric that feels rougher than it looks, his arm stretched behind his back and his wrist pinned to the floor.

Louis struggles feebly for a while, conquered by Beckett's weight and size alone, and huffs. "Well, well, looks like someone's taken their fair share of wrestling and pulling weights? Think that makes you tough, big guy -?"

Beckett pulls his arm farther up behind his back, and Louis hisses, the sharp pain tugging him to silence. "Smelling you through doors isn't the only thing I'm capable of. I could hear you lot loud and clear out there; be a doll and reveal your accomplices to me, since you've been rendered defenseless. Better yet - tell me who's to have my head?"

He pulls his arm up higher behind his back, and Louis wheezes, "Jackass! You're a jackass if you think for a second - that I'd give you an answer for either one just 'cause you've got me pinned -"

Beckett makes a disappointed noise. "Shame. Such a waste of air and space on such a pretty little face and a pretty little body. Hmm. I'll put your body to use, perhaps -"

He releases his wrist - a foolish error and an underestimating decision on his part, if you were to ask Louis - to reach for the hem of Louis' jeans, in which Louis takes it upon himself to reach swiftly beneath the collar of his shirt for the knife strapped around his bicep and sink the blade into the man's thigh, as far and deep as he can reach. Beckett howls and lands a blow to the back of his head, only slightly deterring Louis, for he flips them both over until Beckett is on his back. Louis pulls the knife from its place in Beckett's thigh and slams it back down in the dead center of his throat.

Beckett sputters and wails around the blood filling his mouth, eyes searching his face wildly, and Louis rises to his full height with a smirking, towering over _him_ and turning to the door. "Doesn't seem like a waste of air and space to me, love."

Louis exits the room and gaits down the marble steps, blood staining his hidden fingertips and pruned palms as he passes by a bodyguard with a small nudge and a small smile, spotting Harry and the rest across the room all seated at a clothed table. He steps into the sea of people, dressed in black and white from head to toe like an old movie, silent with abrupt movements and dots before the screen, but all he can see is Harry, really, who's gazing at him over the rim of his glass with his eyes twinkling. Louis thinks it means something. Or he would like to think it means something.

He can't afford much time to ponder it longer, though, because Harry is snatching him up by his bicep and dashing along the outlines of the crowd, and it makes Louis become fairly certain that they have an audience coming behind them, nipping at their heels. He wraps his arm around Harry's arm instead, doesn't really enjoy the feeling of anxious urgency that comes with his grip around his arm, and runs in wide strides to keep up with Harry's pace as they move around the bend of dimly lit hallways with ominous portraits and porcelain busts of people Louis has only been able to briefly study. And the soft bite of his heat's arousal wraps around him as he becomes inappropriately aware of how nice Harry feels against his side, recalling the feeling of his hands on his body, wanting to feel them elsewhere (around his thighs, gripping his waist, _bruising it_ , spreading along the expanses of his chest and stomach, _anywhere, everywhere, everywhere_ -).

They come to a halt in the gloomy shadows of a hallway only lit by the light coming from a separate room, and Louis presses close to Harry, sliding under his arm and into his side with his nose pressed to his chest, listening for white noises and impending feet. He presses so close, so close, that Harry loses his balance being pushed into the wall and topples over with the smaller man still beneath his arm, falling before a room full of black suits and sun glasses. _Great_.

They stumble over the feet trying to stand while attached at the hip, running to be chased thoughtlessly down twisting corridors, a labyrinth of checkered floors, and Louis is steadily getting hotter beneath his clothing, feeling his pants start to stick to his arse to their own accord while his jeans dry. Harry has to nearly carry him through the door when they find an outlet to a spacious garden and also find themselves surrounded, guards coming from all corners.

Gentry comes to a stop behind a wall of roses, kneeling down and pulling something from its place before stepping back to reveal it. Harry frowns. "I refuse to go through the sewers -"

"Not really a time to argue, mate," Blue reminds urgently, and drops down the hole first, darkness swallowing him as he goes. Celeste follows suit, and then Gentry, until Louis and Harry are left there, with Louis practically slumped over Harry's side, breathing heavily and clutching at the hem of his shirt, and with everyone and everything else closing in. He wraps his arm tightly around Louis' waist and dives into the shadows with him by his side, and doesn't bother releasing him even when he lands - feet first - in sewage that runs hip deep. Louis makes a sound of despair and disgust against his chest, shaking his head and parting from his side to reach out.

"This is - _disgusting_ , God," he bites out, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth as his hand hits damp concrete. He uses it as leverage and climbs over an unknown ledge, onto something much cleaner and dry than the mess they stood in. A light flickers on overhead in that instance, bright and dull in its whitish color, and Harry watches as Louis flops onto his stomach and remains there, groaning, jeans clinging to the curves of his lower body, the crown of his head glistening. "Take me _home_."

Harry crawls over the ledge, gripping his waist to get him back on his feet and pushing him gently against the wall to press a kiss to his lips, wet and raw from all the biting he's been doing. Louis gasps into his mouth, hands coming up to curl around his shoulders, and Harry only vaguely thinks back to the night before, having pressed him against the wall in a much rougher manner, bodies molding together with not a breath of life between them. He breaks their lips off from contact and runs his hand over Louis' hair, breaths huffing against the other man's lips. "I will. Soon, alright? Can't imagine that you fancy getting off with sewage water sticking to your skin; I'd like to mark you without both of us tasting like -"

Louis shivers and rolls his eyes simultaneously, shoving at Harry's face and making him stand from him. " _God_ , okay, way to ruin the moment -"

"To be fair, we _were_ just making out in the sewers with an army of bodyguards on our trail -"

"Just - get me home and fuck me," Louis sighs, reaching out and tugging at the hem of Harry's shirt, thin and translucent enough for Louis to see his nipples perk up. He giggles, spreading his hand out against his abdomen and pushing at him. "That turn you on? Just those seven words?"

Harry reaches out, too, to run his hand over the curve of his hip, sliding it swiftly over his bum to give it a firm squeeze that makes Louis' grin slip off of his face. "Can't be blamed, can I? It sounds like an enjoyable compromising position, if you ask me."

Louis swallows a whimper, wrapping his hand around his flexing bicep and trying to scowl at the taller agent. "Don't _tease_ me, _Edward_. Desperate times, these are."

Harry reaches around to squeeze with his other hand and pull them chest to chest, grinning down at him. "Fascinating how you manage to remain yourself, all snark and bite, while in heat."

Louis leans up on his toes, sinking his teeth into the skin of where Harry's jaw curves into his chin, hand clasping on his shoulder for support as he runs the tip of his tongue over the bite. He leans up more, sliding his tongue over his jawline to the shell of his ear, sighing when Harry tightens the grip on his arse. "Told you I wasn't your typical omega, hadn't I?"

Harry leans back and bites at the tip of his ear, moving quickly to the curve of his shoulder and neck; above his Adam's apple; the cut of his cheekbone; to his earlobe. "That you did," he whispers, squeezing again and smacking a kiss to the space beside his ear for good measure.

"I said not to tease -"

"Oh, but you started it, hadn't you -?"

"I'm off limits; I'm in heat, so it doesn't count -"

"How does it not count -"

"Because it just _doesn't_ and because _I said so_ \- shouldn't we be catching up with the rest of them? I think I can hear Celeste calling for me -"

"Fool boy, nobody is calling for you -"

Louis dashes down the concrete sides, under dirtied lights and Harry's simmering gaze.

. . .

"So," Celeste chirps, adjusting the rear view mirror until Louis and Harry come into her view from the backseat, "do you've any intentions to tell us what took you both so long to get here?" She averts her eyes to the road ahead, and the silence between her question and an answer stretch far too long for her liking. She looks up again. "Hello? Earth to Will and Ed?"

It's been all of three minutes since they arrived to the car, and neither of them seem to be able to take their eyes off of each other. Strange, it is, how entranced Harry is by the bow of Louis' upper lip and the full flushed curve of his lower lip; strange, how captured Louis is by the sharp, deep color of Harry's eyes, the wideness of his pupils as he gazes back at him - into him. His breath feels caught in his chest, too light and too heavy to hold all at once, a staccato of sighs passing his lips.

Celeste pulls over rather abruptly and turns around. "Hey!"

Louis and Harry blink, eyes burning with it as they reluctantly turn their attention to her. Harry raises his eyebrows. "Sorry? What was it that you said?"

Celeste huffs, scowling as she turns back around, looking small in her seat. "I was asking you what took so long to get to the car, but the answer is quite evident."

Harry flushes, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry. We're kind of - he's kind of just -"

"Yes, yes, that's all very well; just don't let this happen again. Far too risky having any member of this team in heat and on the job. You know? Anything could cause them to go under -"

Harry nods and squints a bit, almost wanting to ask if she was an alpha, but that would jump start a conversation that just might have the potential to get in the way of how quickly he can get his hands on Louis and himself between his legs, so he keeps it for another time when he doesn't know that Louis is gagging for it. "Understood and agreed. I prefer to take my time in taking care of him, isn't that right, William?" He reaches over, scratching the blunt of his nails over the side of his neck to make him shiver and gasp.

Louis feels caught between wanting to nod like a good little omega and wanting to glower and tell him to stop being obscene - _we're in public among new acquaintances; this is not the impression I want to make_ \- but does nothing instead, staring at Harry through the thickness of his eyelashes as he bares his neck, watching Harry's eyes flash and harden.

Harry presses him against his seat and doesn't take his eyes off of him for the remainder of the ride, opening his mouth only to tell Celeste where they need to be dropped off and saying nothing more. Louis looks right back, breathing against the weight of Harry's heavy hand on his chest and wanting and wishing for him to keep it there, feeling anchored by it.

The sun fades back into washed out clouds.

. . .

Harry has fears, things he's rather afraid of - heights, spiders, oceans, the idea of being stranded with nothing but the clothes on his back to aid him in survival. He has nightmares - nights where he rolls in his sheets alone, sweat sticking to his back damp and cool, dreaming of awful things that rouse him from his slumber. There are plenty of things he's frightened of but -

But there's nothing more frightening than the way Louis is looking at him right now, nothing more haunting. He's naked beneath his weight, writhing for friction, gasping and whining and asking for nothing in the way he wants to, thighs clenching around his slim waist where he leans over him, hair sticking to his forehead and just down the sides of his neck. Harry, clothed all except for his shirt, pulls back for just a moment to look at him, marveling at the way he's coming apart and marveling at the way he gets to make him come apart, and finds Louis' eyes instead.

His eyes; they're so - _open_ , like a field in the midst of trees in the dead of summer. Open and bright and all-knowing and trusting. The trust he sees is what frightens him, what nearly scares him into backing out from between his legs and leaving him there alone and cold. Louis doesn't budge in that instant, which leaves Harry feeling vaguely impressed and massively proud and confused, his thighs continuing to spread around his waist until his scent becomes all the more thicker in the air, in his nose. Harry breathes him in and grips his waist and then takes his hand to set on his chest. In all of his ragged, wicked years, he's never experienced a heat like this from someone like _Louis_ , who's always going at one million miles per hour, at the speed of sound and lightning. "Why are you so still? So quiet?" he whispers.

Louis blinks slowly in answer, shifting his hips against Harry's, knowing only what his brain allows him to register: _heat_ and _sex_ and _Harry_.

Harry's knot might pop in his pants right at this moment, heat gathering at the pit of his stomach, at the place above his pelvis. He's overcome with a need and a lust like nothing he's ever felt before; the unbridled and wild desire to _fuck_ Louis and _take_ him, own him and keep him. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants with trembling fingers, under the pretense that he might be more desperate than Louis is. "I want to knot you."

Louis releases a broken moan, loud and full of longing and aching. Harry speaks over it, spurred on by the sound and absorbing it as a form of fact: he's making that noise for _him_ because he _needs_ him, wants him. "I want to knot you and - and fucking mate you and make you all mine -"

Louis sprawls himself out so far and long that Harry is certain his hips and thighs must be straining, but there's - he's leaking all over the place, soaking the sheets beneath his bum with his wetness, cock full and pink and blurting out precome against his stomach at a steady, sure pace. He's looks fucking incredible, better than anything Harry's ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on.

He settles between his spread thighs and comes at a crossroads, knowing that if he fucks him now then it'll all be over quicker than it started and knowing that if he doesn't get something inside Louis sooner or later, Louis just might die with the heat and no release. With one hand propping up his thigh, he trails his fingers down his taint and into his slick heat, and his hole spasms around his fingers once, three times, sucking them in until Louis coming a plentiful amount all over himself and the sheets, laying out a stutter of surprised moans.

"Christ. _Christ_ , you smell fucking amazing, Louis," Harry murmurs, rubbing three fingers over his loose and open hole, tips catching and making Louis' thighs twitch and start to come together. Harry spreads them once more and slides his fingers back on, wiggling and scissoring them until they bump into a spot, a nub that has Louis coming for the second time, toes curling and hands coming up to tangle in his own hair.

Harry caresses his thigh, grinning and panting like he's the one who came twice in a row. "So responsive and sensitive, aren't you, love? Wonder if you'll ever be this easy out of heat -"

"Shut," Louis whimpers around his gasps and pants, "the fuck up, and get your knot _in me_."

"So bossy and demanding," Harry mocks, wrapping his hand around Louis' angry cock and twisting his fist up thoroughly from base to head in long, tight strokes. "Can't I tease you a bit more?" His strokes pick up in speed, precome making the sound of skin on skin echo in the balcony. He bites his lip, cock twitching.

"No, dammit, enough teasing; I need your _knot_ and you're - you're -" Louis sucks in a breath, coming for the third time over the back of Harry's hand, hips jerking. "You're not giving me what I _need_ -"

Harry runs his tongue over his hand, reveling in Louis' sweet, thick taste and frowning at his words. He moves forward until their thighs slide against one another and his cockhead catches on his hole, still steadily spurting slick onto the bed. "Not giving you what you need? I gave you what you needed three times already, haven't I?" He tips his hips forward anyway, giving him no time to retort with something intelligent because Harry quite likes this concept of making him fall apart so easily.

Louis swallows and gasps handfuls of air, head tipped back to expose his unmarked neck, clean of Harry's claim in the form of teeth marks and bruises; his hair sticks just to the sides of his neck, to his temples and forehead, spreading out around his head on the pillow; his lips part and fall open like his thighs do, framing the meat of Harry's slowly thrusting hips. Time is lost in the moments where Louis breathes against Harry's lips, where the base of Harry's cock is right up against Louis' hole, where Louis comes for the fourth time with him and his ample stamina.

And then, through an iterance of broken whimpers, Louis tells him to move, tells him to really move, and the last thing Harry needs is to be told twice. He braces his legs against the bed, tips Louis' hips up until Louis is nearly lying in his lap, and takes his request to heart like a good challenge.

Harry - _God_ , Harry wishes he could take a picture or a video of this, wishes he could capture all of this and the unreal moment in a bottle or a box or whatever. Louis is scrambling for purchase on _anything_ within his reach - the sheets, the pillows, his hair, his nipples, his skin, Harry's hair, Harry's nipples, Harry's skin. He's loud, his noises heavenly and ear-piercing, high and soft like a bird's feather, making little surprised sounds like he hadn't expected Harry to hit that spot like he had on his last thrust. Harry can hardly _breathe_ , feeling more than privileged to see him so scattered and open, _honored_ in a way.

Somebody is speaking between them, between all of Louis' sweet, high, mewling noises, and Harry realizes that it's him, talking with no filter, feeling wild like an _animal_. "That's right. That's right, isn't it? I bet nobody else could fuck you like I can, make you fall apart like I can, and you're so easy for me, aren't you, darling? Nobody could ever get you as hot as I do, isn't that right? Who do you belong to, baby? Who owns you?"

Louis can barely speak or create thoughts coherent enough to translate them into words he's supposed to speak aloud, but - the words _belong_ and _own_ resound in him with such sharp clarity that he nearly _glows_ , shaking so much that it seems like he's vibrating. His back arches and curves obscenely, body jerking and fingers turning red with his grip on the sheets. " _You!_ You, I belong to you, and I'm yours! I'm all yours, I swear - _Harry_ -"

Harry's thrusts, once quick and hard, start to become erratic and sloppy, the base of his cock expanding at Louis slurring his name and the words _belong_ to together. Against his will, his eyes zero in on the column of his neck, clean of his mark and covered with sweat. It isn't right. _That isn't right._

He surges forward, his knot pops and locks onto Louis' hole, and his teeth sink into Louis' skin.

The air runs out in that instant, a stretch of time that dips into a heart-stopping pause as Harry's pupils dilate and his heart thumps against the lines of his collar bones. He feels the bond, wrapping around them like a silk string and tying them together, connecting them in a way Harry hasn't connected with anyone else in five years - overwhelming him and encompassing him and catching him round his throat. He crashes down into Louis completely, closing his arms around him and hugging him close like he might plan on going any other place than where he's locked to Harry and his still slowly thrusting hips. He can feel Louis' heartbeat against his chest, going from planetary to strong and steady, his breaths puffing against the crown of his hair because he's buried in his neck with his tongue lapping over the mating mark.

It takes three minutes for them to settle down, and three more to realize what took place between Louis' throat catching Harry's eye and Harry's knot starting to pop, still pumping his release with the intent of getting him pregnant. Oh. _Oh -_

"Oh my _God_ ," Louis says, sharply through his tired, breathy sobs, hands coming up to cover his face. "Harry -"

"Don't say anything," Harry replies around a mouthful of pillowcase, face buried into the pillow beside Louis' head, hair damp and coming over his face. "Just tell me that you realize that this was a mistake."

And Louis - Louis abruptly finds that he can't answer that, can't say that he knows it was a mistake in the heat of the moment without feeling his heart crumble behind his ribs, without feeling his chest cave in. He keeps his face covered and doesn't say anything for a minute, then says, "I realize it was a mistake. Heat of the moment. Just an accident." _An accident. All of this was a mistake, was an accident. All of my love and that sliver of hope was a mistake and an accident._ He turns his head away and plasters his hand to his forehead, convincing himself that there's nothing to be embarrassed or upset over, that he should've seen this coming from a thousand miles and more away.

He turns his body away and curls up into the blankets when Harry's knot goes down and he pulls out, ignoring the wetness steadily dripping from his hole and in between his thighs and ignoring the burning in his eyes. Harry's hand fits against his side over the blankets, which he fails to feign ignorance in reaction to because he flinches and shrinks even smaller.

"You're my friend, though. I can give you that," Harry says, squeezing his hip. Touching him like that's going to fix things and make the permanent mark on his neck go away on its own and diminish its meaning and purpose. Telling him that they're friends like it won't remind Louis that he could give him something better. Louis forces himself to drift off with a lump in his throat and a frown furrowing his brows. _You're giving me all the things I need a second too late._

They sleep with their backs facing the other that night, the spaces between them like canyons and valleys and miles apart, and Harry keeps himself up until three contemplating over if he should reach over and try to hold Louis' hand. He doesn't, tucking his hands beneath his armpits, chest heavy.

. . .

"You know, erm, last night, I was thinking that maybe it's a good thing that you did that," Louis pipes up, lips brushing over the lip of his tea mug as he pokes his fork into the eggs and sausage Harry had made. It's nine in the morning, hours after Louis' scent jerked Harry awake and Harry had to fuck the last of his heat out with Louis lying on his stomach, face buried in his arms and covering his whines and sighs - as if he was embarrassed about having allowed Harry to hear them in the first place.

Harry pauses at the sink, forearms buried in soapy dishwater as he grips the sponge and plate a tad too tightly. "How do you mean?"

Louis shrugs, blowing over his tea and taking a sip. "If they had any doubts about the legitimacy of our relationship, if we walked in the facility today and they saw the mark and - and smelled you on me, then that would solidify it, wouldn't it? Good 'ol alpha tendencies - we're in a different place and you don't want anyone getting the idea that they're free to take what's yours. So." His voice is straining nonchalance over the words, like they don't mean anything to him, like the spot on his neck and the bruises on his waist are other accessories for this case.

"Right."

This'll be the last they speak of it; Louis can feel the opportunity slipping through his fingers like sand as each second ticks by, can feel the urgency of the subject. _I'm your mate and you're mine. I'm your omega and you're my alpha._ "Harry, maybe we should - I dunno. Maybe we should talk about what to do when the case is over -"

Harry turns, eyes cold and burning, hair whipping around his face like a gust of wind has just gone by even though they're indoors - Louis feels it, too, over his skin and in his bones. "What is there to talk about? The case ends, and we move on. This bond doesn't mean anything, okay? You're not my omega, and I am not your alpha. This is just a case, we had a bit of fun, and it went a bit too far, yeah? There. It's talked about - done." He resumes washing the dishes, and Louis sinks in his seat, letting his tea go cold.

And then he straightens his back because he's nothing if not out-spoken. "No."

Harry pauses. "Excuse me -?"

"Did I stutter? I said no. Look, I don't know if we've gone a bit too deep into these roles of ours, but I know you must have forgotten who I am. In here, in this flat, I don't take your decisions just because you tell me, and what you say _doesn't_ go. You're right - I'm not your omega and you're _not_ my alpha. And we are going to have a proper conversation about what we do with the fact that you fucked me and _mated_ me. Quite frankly, Styles, I don't have any kind of sympathy for your poor communication skills, but you being under this stigma where you're in charge of everything and make the decisions about what _I'm_ doing simply will not work if you and I are meant to maintain any kind of friendship. That's clear, yeah? Also, your sausages were under-cooked, and your eggs taste like rubber."

Louis is already getting up from the table, already walking away and leaving his mess behind for _Harry_ to clean up, and Harry knows it's only fair with all how he's been treating him in these past few days, but the other side of him, the one where his alpha takes the reigns, demands that he bring Louis right back there by his arm and ask him why he thinks he can speak to his alpha that way. He doesn't, though, because he acknowledges and knows full well that none of this is done or talked about, not yet. Louis is going to be his, permanently, for the rest of their lives.

Harry turns back to the sink, watching suds run circles around his wrists. This is far from done.


End file.
